


Et Mors Iustitiae

by Luke_Danger



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Military, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 20:09:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20413594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luke_Danger/pseuds/Luke_Danger
Summary: Fareeha Amari had both hoped for and dreaded the day that her mother would finally show her face again - the moment the two met after the latter's "death". Yet when it finally came, there was little time to confront a near-decade of silence: her mother had come with a warning, one they had to act on. Flying into the unknown as the first spark of civil war ignites, Fareeha knows that her mother's worst fears could happen at any time. But fighting alongside the reforming Overwatch and her squadron, Fareeha knows that this was what she wants with her life. Now she only had to convince her mother while fighting for Egypt's future.





	1. Reunion

_“You’re enlisting in the Egyptian Army, Fareeha?!”  
  
“If I need experience to join Overwatch, then that is where I will get it.”  
  
“So you will throw away all I did for you, just to suffer the same things?”  
  
“You raised me among heroes, and now you want me to hide when I could join them?”  
  
“I want you to have a full life, one without all the regret and guilt from killing! I don’t want you to face what I have!”  
  
“And what about what _I_ want?!”_  
  
“Captain?”  
  
Jolted from her thoughts, Fareeha Amari turned as she saw who had walked up. “Tariq? What is it?”  
  
“You haven’t come down for breakfast yet, and you are missing some incredible stories,” said the former rookie of Helix’s Raptora Squadron as he stepped out onto the waystation’s observation deck. Corporal Tariq Samir, callsign Gizmo, one of the three survivors of Anubis’ second reawakening and the squadron’s tech expert.  
  
“I’ve heard them so many times I could tell them myself, word for word,” she remarked with a faint smile as she turned around. Neither of them were in armor that morning, wearing simple dull grey fatigues with Helix’s logo on the sleeves, though they would suit up soon enough.  
  
“Careful with that. We might ask for story time on long deployments.”  
  
“You can ask,” She shook her head, smiling faintly. “I’ll be down in a bit.”  
  
“Of course, Captain.”  
  
After she gestured that he could go, he left her alone to look further west. Another mission under her belt, but one that was dragging up far too many memories by the fact it was a joint mission with the reforming Overwatch.  
  
Normally she would have been based farther south, operating from Helix International Security’s main base outside of Giza, but the mission last night had seen the squadron sent north. Talon was trying to reactivate an old abandoned military drone factory a few kilometers east of Alexandria. The reforming Overwatch had the intel on it thanks to a data raid in Ilios. The GIS, Egypt’s intelligence service, received a copy from them and verified the data themselves. After running it past the appropriate authorities, it was decided to just pay Helix to deal with the factory. Too much potential firepower for the police, but mobilizing the Central Security Forces or regular army would take too long with too much political attention.  
  
The reformed Overwatch had sent a team to deal with it as well, and the mission turned into a joint strike to neutralize the threat before it could be unleashed. The finished drones from the factory and the production line were both destroyed, but to do so before they got loose meant letting Talon extract from the area. By the time all was said and done, Commander Kontar had told them to just stay at a patrol waystation for the night and report back in the morning.  
  
‘Coincidently’, and Fareeha had learned to use the term loosely with Helix’s controlling executive officer in Egypt, it also kept them and the joint-mission aspect of it out of the way from any cameras while the media pestered the main base outside Giza for details from the on-base spokesperson. Still, it was not the mission that was bothering her that morning.  
  
Looking out to the west, there was one thing that _was_ a coincidence in the small town just a short drive away from the waystation. A house in the near-rural part of the Alexandria suburbs, where her mother had grown up in and probably would have liked to retire to with the rest of her family had she not been killed in action.  
  
_But she wasn’t, was she?_ Fareeha asked herself as her mind went to the letter stored in a secure lockbox there. A _letter_, that was all that her mother had cared to send her. Handwritten, yes, but something this important left to mere paper?  
  
Especially since she was now certain her mother had been in Egypt for far longer, yet not once had she tried to meet up with her. Whoever was waiting for her mother was apparently more important than her own daughter. She had sought out _Angela_ before a face to face meeting with her own-  
  
Fareeha heard a heavy boot step on the metal flooring and turned, interrupting her thoughts as she saw who had come out. “Brigitte, had enough of Reinhardt’s stories?”  
  
“Probably the same reason you’re taking so long coming down for breakfast,” the Swedish squire stepped out of the door. “I think he just likes telling stories.”  
  
“Especially to the brave little girls who will succeed him?”  
  
Brigitte chuckled as she leaned on the railing next to her. “And the little boys too. Georg joined the Swedish Army because of him.”  
  
“He’s the one who got your father’s nose, right?” Fareeha smiled as a better memory came back, of the few times Torbjorn had brought the whole Lindholm family to Geneva.  
  
“That’s the one,” the engineer acknowledged, letting the conversation trail off for a moment before asking her real question: “So, what brought you up here?”  
  
“Look west,” the captain said as she pointed. “Can you see that suburb, just on the horizon?”  
  
“Yeah, barely. Why?”  
  
“That was where my family lived, before the Crisis,” Fareeha exhaled. “Where they returned afterwards, and probably where my mother wanted me to live when I found some peaceful job like she always wanted.”  
  
“I thought she wanted you to follow her footsteps?”  
  
“That’s what everyone thinks,” Fareeha explained as she shook her head. “No, she wanted civilian life for me. She never asked if I _wanted_ to face it all, if I wanted to fight for a better world.”  
  
“Papa was not really happy when I joined Reinhardt,” the Swede admitted as she looked down. “But he told me I had to make my own choices, wherever they led.”  
  
Fareeha could feel the taste of bile in her mouth as the uncomfortable topic was coming up, but pressed on anyways. “Even if it might mean he would have to bury you?”  
  
Brigitte’s tone faltered immediately, even if she spoke on steadily. “We had a long talk about it, same as Georg got before he went to boot camp. It was our choice, but he wanted it to be an educated one.”  
  
“He wanted to make sure you were comfortable with the idea?”  
  
“More that I accepted it. Anyone who wants to die fighting is either looking for a way out or doesn’t understand what it means, that’s what papa told me.”  
  
“But some things are worth dying to protect.”  
  
“Exactly. Was that how you came to terms with it?”  
  
Fareeha hesitated a moment before answering, mostly because more of that argument intruded into her thoughts. “I try to keep what I might die for in perspective, why it’s worth the risk.”  
  
“I guess it would help to have a reason for dying, but…” Brigitte inhaled, eyes closed as if she was imagining something as she continued, “I still can’t ignore how papa would react if I came home in a body bag. Or worse, mom’s reaction.”  
  
_“Just because half of Reinhardt’s creed is ‘die with glory’ doesn’t make it right for you to give up your life, your friends, your family-”_  
  
“That’s the cost of war,” Fareeha answered to interrupt the memory of her mother’s voice. “All the horror that comes with glory.”  
  
Brigitte exhaled, opening her eyes and probably steadying herself as she pushed back from the railing as she turned to look at her. “So. What pushes you to fight, Fareeha?”  
  
“I think about those who would suffer if I didn’t. Egypt is already having a tough time making ends meet, the last thing it needs is some two-bit warlord running rampant or a god-program waking up.”  
  
“You sound like Reinhardt, just quiet about it.”  
  
Fareeha chuckled despite the heavy topic. “I looked up to him since I was a kid.”  
  
“Him and the rest of Overwatch.”  
  
“And the rest, true.” She still had fond memories of the others - Jack, Gabriel, Torbjorn, Angela... “I know you didn’t spend nearly as much time in Geneva as I did, but did you ever want to join Overwatch?”  
  
“Not after what happened to Reinhardt, he deserved better.”  
  
That killed the conversation then and there, especially as both women knew exactly what had preceded Reinhardt’s retirement. _Should I tell her?_ Fareeha wondered briefly. Or Reinhardt, for that matter. If anyone deserved to know, it was him.  
  
“Come on,” Brigitte said as she slapped a hand onto her shoulder, “_you_ need to eat. How many hours of debriefing do you have this afternoon?”  
  
“All part of the job, Brigitte.”  
  
Fareeha decided to hold off on telling them, at least until after breakfast. She did not want to pop it on them right before they left, but she could at least let them have a full meal first. Besides, the rest of the squadron was enjoying Reinhardt’s story time, it would be pointless cruelty of their captain to cut it short so brutally.  
  


* * *

  
  
“And then you shouted_ ‘Come out you bastards, I’ll fight the lot of you!’_ like she hadn’t said a thing!”  
  
“Bah!” the ogre-sized German snorted as he looked the short woman with a glowing harness strapped onto her chest, “They knew we were there anyways, Lena! You know how sharp omnic senses are!”  
  
Before Tracer could retort, a comlink beeped and everyone (minus the one omnic at the end of the table) checked their wrists or pockets.  
  
“Sorry, that’s mine,” Tariq said as he pulled a phone from his pocket. “I promised Rehema I’d call when our deployment was done. She probably saw the news.”  
  
“Well, she’s impatient isn’t she?” the squadron’s second-in-command remarked as he folded his arms. Saleh Hamadi, callsign Ghulam and the other survivor of the Anubis AI’s ambush on the squadron.  
  
“Well…” Tariq said with a sly smile that caused Brigitte to snort.  
  
“Just get going newlywed,” Saleh teased as he waved him to go. “And don’t fly off to see her.”  
  
“Only when I’m on leave, Saleh!”  
  
As he left, another of the squadron piped up a remark: “I would recommend leaving him alone, Lieutenant. It is not every day a nerd like him gets married.”  
  
That drew several chuckles and snickers from several of those across the table, though Fareeha had to wonder how much of that was due to _who_ had made the joke. It was the squadron’s new omnic and Okoro’s replacement, Basil. Basil OOM-96927 if you added his serial number, but most of the squadron preferred to use his callsign for such formal matters. In this case, the callsign was Akkad, stemming from the beard-like metal plating he added inspired by old Sumerian artwork in museums. And yes _he,_ not _it_, by his own preference.  
  
“Hey, as long as the tincan draws fire, he’ll get back to love,” another added with a smirk on her face.  
  
“Says the meat for the grinder,” Basil shot back, albeit with a more jovial tone.  
  
Fareeha glanced to the one who had spoken up - Gamilla Henderson, callsign Corva. The current rookie of the squad fresh from her own military service, and like Saleh was mostly another rifle in combat. She was short, but she could still go pound for pound with the others during training. And with her black hair tied into a bun, she blended in quite well compared to the one who spoke afterwards.  
  
“Yes well, _she_ doesn’t get in my line of fire,” growled the second of the two non-Egyptian members of the Raptora Squadron. Dietrich Franz, callsign Warhammer, the team’s designated marksman and spotter that Helix recruited from the remnants of a Landschneckt company in Germany. While the revival of the concept had also seen a revival of their atrocious fashion sense, the sashes got in the way of jump jets so fortunately he did not wear them on missions. He still wore the yellow and black pattern from shoulder to waist over his fatigues, even to breakfast.  
  
“Bah, what is it with snipers and complaining?” Reinhardt shot back, continuing the playful umbrage he had taken up with his fellow anachronism. “Next thing you’ll do is complain about my footsteps!”  
  
“Which are nearly impossible to miss,” Fareeha teased as she saw the opportunity, grinning faintly. “I remember something about a mission in Prague?”  
  
“All part of the plan! And another story too…”  
  
“Do you ever run out?” Tracer exhaled, almost putting her head down on the table. “Just record the damn things, I could use something to listen to when I only get four hours!”  
  
“Wait, these stories put you to sleep?” Brigitte asked suddenly, pausing as she was about to chug down another glass of water.  
  
“Nah, chronal disassociation side-effect,” Lena explained as she rose back up, knocking the side the chronal accelerator quietly pulsing on her chest. “Sometimes I get eight-in-four with nothing to do, and every so often I’ll get the other way around.”  
  
The conversation halted there as everyone was put on the back foot. Most people only knew of Tracer’s condition in the form of the temporal powers and teleportation that it granted her. Very few stopped to consider the fact that Lena Oxton’s heroics had come at a great personal cost. And of those that did…  
  
_“Do you want to end up a ghost, like Oxton? And she is absurdly lucky considering-”  
  
“Yes, she is! She got to join Overwatch without even a full tour!”_  
  
And now that Fareeha had been face to face with the younger face of Overwatch when they were not attending the same funeral, it left her wondering just how long she had envied Tracer for the wrong reasons.  
  
Fortunately for her conscience, Saleh broke the silence. “_‘Story Time with Reinhardt Wilhelm’_. You now, the royalties from that would not be a bad retirement plan.”  
  
“Retire?” the Crusader asked in mock offense, “Pfah! I will fight ‘till my last breath!”  
  
“Amusing as this is,” Tracer cut in suddenly as she blinked out of her chair, reappearing just behind where Gamilla was sitting across from her to the annoyance of the American who turned around to glare, “I need to go check the Orca. Sand does a number on the engines, and this isn’t an airport.”  
  
“Go ahead, I’m not going to stop you,” Fareeha answered.  
  
“Captain,” Tracer said with a brief salute, despite not needing to, and was out the door.  
  
_“You're so lucky, Tracer. Ever since I was a little girl I dreamed of joining Overwatch.”  
  
“Maybe you’ll still get your chance,” Oxton had offered as they spoke after the mission last night, “Who knows what the future holds?”_  
  
Well, she doubted she would be keeping her rank if she _did_ jump ship. By the time she was able to leave Helix without breaking her contract with them, Overwatch would have sorted out a proper rank structure from whoever answered. Yes the recall was slow going, but even the small team had still made the news enough that the fact that no one had tried to arrest them spoke for itself. Still, being able to join Overwatch’s rebirth was such a tempting thought...  
  
And that was when there was another beep, and this time it was Fareeha’s wrist comlink.  
  
“Pharah here,” she said as she turned it on.  
  
“Captain, it’s Tariq,” came the corporal’s voice, “You might want to get out here, now. And bring the Crusader.”  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“I…” he hesitated. “It might be a trick, but I’m not sure how to put this delicately. You need to see this, Wilhelm as well.”  
  
There were only a few things that she knew that would cause him to hesitate like this while also being something important for Reinhardt. Forewarned by Angela, Fareeha was armed for what was about to come by her own thoughts as to what she might say if - not when - it finally happened.  
  
“I understand, we’re on our way,” she said as the Crusader pushed himself up and she made her way quickly through the waystation. It was not quite a jog, but a part of her wished she was taking more time with this.  
  
“What is it? What has got him so worked up?” Reinhardt asked as he followed her, Brigitte not far behind.  
  
“Reinhardt, there is something that I was going to tell you before you left,” she started as she found herself wishing that this was not how he was going to have to find out. “Two years ago, I got a letter.”  
  
“A letter?”  
  
“Yes,” she said as they reached the door. “But it was _who_ the letter was from, because, well…” why was she hesitating now?  
  
The door opened, and she saw what was waiting outside. First up was Tracer and Tariq standing at the edge of the walkway, looking down along with several Helix troopers who were uneasily keeping the object of the sudden flurry of activity under watch from vantage points.  
  
And at the center of attention were a man and a woman who had arrived on an old hover-jeep, both of them with hair colored a silvered grey from old age.  
  
The man wore his hair short, most of his face obscured with a tactical visor as his stolen Helix weapon slung over his shoulder by a strap. His leather jacket of blue and white was the rest of the giveaway even though she could not see the back. Everyone in Helix who had been briefed knew who he was: Soldier 76, wanted vigilante and quite possibly Jack Morrison himself.  
  
His companion, however, wearing a recon jacket with its hood pulled over a blue hijab and her right eye covered by an eyepatch? With her still-good eye marked with a very similar udjat to that Fareeha had gotten after she left the Egyptian Army? A sniper rifle of her own slung over by its strap, along with sleep darts, combat stims, and various biotic canisters? There was no doubt about it.  
  
Ana Amari had finally decided to pay her daughter a visit.  
  
Despite all her planning, all the times she had thought about what she would say, what she would do if she finally came face to face with her mother, Fareeha couldn’t say anything. All she could do was stare at her mother, and just as her mother was about to speak up…  
  
“Ana,” Reinhardt gasped, almost falling to his knees as he stepped forward. “How could this be? I thought you were dead!”  
  
“I’m sorry, Reinhardt,” the old sniper answered as she looked towards him, expression softening. “But after everything that happened, I needed time.”  
  
Time. She needed time? _That_ was what she needed after sending one letter years ago?!  
  
It took all of her self-control to not storm out and yell, to demand answers. To demand just what in all of God’s good creation was so important that she couldn’t even take the time to visit her own daughter. Why she could chase down a whole criminal network just across the Nile but couldn’t visit once. She could feel her heartbeat quickening, a fight or flight instinct priming for an argument… but she could not act on it in either direction. Not here.  
  
Instead, she contained it to a glare that would make a drill sergeant back down and clenching her hands into tight fists. Watching as her stepped forward as all eyes were on her. Watching as her mother walked right up to her and smiled as warmly as she could, looking up at the now taller of the two women.  
  
“Fareeha,” her mother started as she reached a hand up towards her, “My little girl, all…”  
  
“I’m thirty-two, _mother_,” Fareeha interrupted through grit teeth, pushing her hand away. “This is a secure facility. Why are you here?”  
  
“Fareeha!” Reinhardt gasped, “She’s-”  
  
Her mother raised a hand towards him, and the Crusader stopped. “No. No, she’s right,” the old woman admitted. “I came for a reason,” she looked towards 76. “Jack and I came for a reason.”  
  
“Jack? As in-” Brigitte started, staring towards him.  
  
“Bloody fuckin’ ‘ell!” Tracer shouted suddenly as if something had finally clicked in her mind.  
  
“We can catch up later,” Soldier 76 cut in as he stepped forward. “We’ve got intel, intel that you need to pass up the chain ASAP.”  
  
“Start talking, _now_,” Fareeha demanded as she took a half-step forward. “What is so important that you came personally?”  
  
“General Mohmar Srour has an attack planned on Alexandria, habibti,” her mother said, quietly enough that it was unlikely anyone father away than Brigitte heard it. “Today.”  
  
“And do you have any proof?”  
  
“We managed to pull data before we left.” Her mother reached into her pocket - slowly, keenly aware that there were several people who would shoot her if it looked like she was making a hostile move - and pulled out a pocket data drive. “General Mohmar may know that we have it, but it details plans to crash Alexandria’s defense network, soon.”  
  
It did not take long for her to connect the dots. The former general who had retired in disgust after the Anubis AI’s first reactivation was shut down by Overwatch. A man who had become the so-called ‘elected warlord’ as he found himself giving a new hope to a community of bitter, washed out veterans and refugees in the hinterlands. He gave them a hope of an omnic-free Egypt, a goal of being able to step in when something like the Anubis AI reawakening happened again and threw the nation into chaos.  
  
And if they had decided they could not wait, especially with the ongoing sessions of parliament in Alexandria?  
  
“Tariq, I want this data drive checked for viruses,” she ordered, and he ran over to take it. “Once you have started the scan, tell Saleh to suit the squadron up. I’ll call the Commander, get intel on the horn so we can interrogate these two.”  
  
“Interrogate?!” Morrison piped up with a loud growl.  
  
“If what you are saying is true, we need to verify it,” she responded as she looked towards him, then back to her mother.  
  
“Fareeha, that’s your mother!” Reinhardt’s shock was palpable, but she had to stay firm.  
  
Especially as her mother went for the next strike, half gaping as she spoke up. “Habibti...”  
  
“Brigitte, Reinhardt,” Fareeha started as she turned her back to her mother, “you two should armor up if we need to deploy.”  
  
“Um, right,” the Swede said as she walked towards her mentor, leading him towards the Orca. Reinhardt was initially pulled along, but…  
  
“No, I can suit up later,” he said instead, pulling his arm from his squire’s grip. “I have so many questions!”  
  
“And I’ll answer them, Reinhardt, as best I can.”  
  
_Okay, that will keep them busy,_ Fareeha realized as she looked to the sergeant on watch. “Sergeant, keep the two out here until I’ve talked to the Commander, and call the second you see anything.”  
  
“I- uh, yes, Captain,” he said, shaking slightly as he held his pulse rifle. This was escalating too fast, but she had more to think of as she went to the waystation’s command center. Not just setting up a direct line to the Helix headquarters in Gaza or the potential of the first potential warlord attack that Egypt had faced in years, but personal affairs as well.  
  
Striding through the metal hallway, she could not help but wonder if she had not done something wrong in an entirely unrelated matter. That she was being ungrateful, cruel, or any other list of horrible verbs that could be counted. But at the same time, couldn’t she say the same about her mother?  
  
“Put it aside, Pharah,” she muttered to herself, trying to force her mind to focus on the situation at hand. “You have a job to do.”


	2. Seven Years Late

Despite how unlikely the scenario would have appeared before, Commander Kontar took the revelation of both Soldier 76’s true identity and that Ana Amari was alive quite well. Or at least, he kept his usual cursing when his job got much harder to a minimum.   
  
“But Shrike and Bastet being the same woman, and your mother to boot, does explain a few things,” the old officer finished as he folded his arms, the holographic image projected over the main table in the command center flickering briefly. “The data on that drive looks legitimate, so I’m taking a ‘trust but verify’ approach unless you can think of a reason to dismiss this out of hand.”  
  
“No, sir,” Fareeha answered. “But I must bring up-”  
  
“No need,” he waved his hand to interrupt her. “We discussed this when they were rounding up Hakim’s lackeys. I trust your professionalism, Captain.” He turned to someone off screen on his end, “Adjudant, get Lieutenant Marwa on the horn, I imagine she’ll have questions too.”  
  
“Are you sure you want to involve the GIS before we’ve debriefed them, sir?”  
  
Kontar grimaced at Fareeha’s question. “We’re knee deep already, and besides they will want to know where this came from. At least this way, the proper authorities are involved as soon as possible. Secure the command center and bring them in, all of them. Oxton, Wilhelm, and Lindholm as well as the two vigilantes. I want them all in one place as we discuss this.”  
  
Translation: if the new Overwatch was involved with the two and it became necessary to shut them _all_ down, at least they would be in one place. Despite being in no particular eagerness to have to potentially detain Tracer, much less Reinhardt or Brigitte, Fareeha saluted her commander. “I understand, sir.”  
  
He returned the salute. “Good, let’s see what they have to say. Oh, and Captain?”  
  
“Yes sir?”  
  
“Don’t try to find an excuse to suit up, I think it would send the wrong message to our guests.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“Go get them, Captain.”  
  
Dismissed, Fareeha made her way back as Tariq remained in the command center. On one hand, it did help that Kontar seemed to be trying to look for a peaceful resolution to this, even if he would be fenced in by Helix’s obligations. On the other, she could not help but shake the feeling that her mother had brought a career ender to drop into her lap. _Which would suit her just fine, wouldn’t it?_  
  
Exhaling and trying to force that thought out of her mind, she found the platform differently crowded. The two former Overwatch leaders had gone back to the jeep and locked their weapons inside and were coming back, while the rest of the Raptora Squadron was fully armed and wearing their new Mark VI armor. Saleh and Basil were both on the deck flanking the ramp up from the sand, and as she looked up behind her she saw Dietrich and Gamilla on the rooftop. Reinhardt and Tracer were also on the deck, the former just staring at the two comrades he thought he had mourned, while Brigitte was on her way back from the landing pad.  
  
_Good, everyone here at once,_ she decided as her mother and Morrison were stepping back onto the ramp.  
  
“Thank you for disarming ahead of time,” she said, doing her best to keep her tone neutral as she folded her arms. “Commander Kontar is going to patch in a GIS liaison to debrief you, and he wants all the Overwatch members here to be there.”  
  
“All of us?” Reinhardt asked, turning. “Surely he does not assume treachery!”  
  
“If he did, we would be cuffing you right now,” she answered even as she found herself looking more towards Morrison despite it being Reinhardt’s question.  
  
“What about us, Captain?” Saleh asked as he took a step towards her.  
  
“Keep watch outside, we’ll let the security team handle the rest.”  
  
He nodded. “Got it. Squadron, spread out and keep the perimeter!”  
  
That kept them busy, and the next thing she knew she was leading in a rather large entourage to the center of the waystation. She was quite glad it happened out here - at Helix’s main base, there would be no way to avoid countless stares. Or more likely, they would have had to detain them just for security’s sake; a waystation at least had nothing particularly valuable.  
  
“Fareeha,” her mother started, “aren’t you going to say anything?”  
  
“What is there to say that could not have been said years ago?” Fareeha asked back, not even turning around to look at her. That silenced any further questions as they got to the command center.  
  
They all filed into the room, Tracer and Brigitte pulling up chairs to sit by the wall while Reinhardt stood next to them, still in partial shock. Fareeha moved to stand by the center console next to Tariq, and watched as her mother and Morrison stood at the center of the room in clear view of the transmitter. The latter removed his tactical visor, but held it closely, while the former lowered the hood of her recon jacket.  
  
And on the console, apparently sitting next to Commander Kontar despite being in an entirely different city, a uniformed woman had joined him, visible from the waist up. She was glaring rather harshly at the two vigilantes as they entered the projection range of the transmitter, but said nothing as Helix’s commander started.  
  
“Captain Ana Amari, Strike Commander Morrison, my name is Commander Kontar, Helix International Security. With me is Lieutenant Marwa, GIS.”  
  
“Let’s skip the formalities,” the intelligence officer said as she kept her glare. “How did you get this information? What were you doing in Menoubaroh?”  
  
“Following a lead on potential intelligence regarding Talon’s activities in Egypt, Lieutenant,” Ana explained as she took a half-step forward. “Talon has been making failed overtures to General Mohmar for some time.”  
  
“Failed?”  
  
“Correct. Apparently, despite plotting a revolution the general does not see Talon as beneficial to Egypt’s future.”  
  
“And you went and contacted him _why_?”  
  
Ana bristled briefly, though Fareeha could hazard a guess why. “Because we are gathering information on Talon to identify their operatives and drive them out of Egypt. As far as we knew at the time, his ideas were simply political.”  
  
“We’re wasting time here,” Morrison cut in, “That intel is going to go off today, and he will have a backup plan if it leaked.”  
  
“I forwarded your information to the proper authorities who will take the appropriate measures,” Marwa answered without hesitation. “Now, why don’t you two tell us just what happened there.”  
  
Fareeha could feel her mother’s glance towards her, the Helix captain doing her best to keep her expression neutral. This could easily end very badly depending on how the lieutenant took their testimony. But her mother looked back to the officer, and started explaining.  
  
“We arrived about midday yesterday, and after the pleasantries the general gave us the information he had on Talon, including their efforts to court him and the rest of Menoubaroh. He gave it freely, as he and the past leaders in the community consider Talon a threat. Most of it was just transcripts, but many of the offers included assistance against Alexandria, whether just forming a breakaway governorate or a revolution.”  
  
“The discussion turned towards history, particularly the Anubis AI,” Morrison began as his co-conspirator turned and gave him a nod, “but it was priming us for a request to assist him in his attack. He stayed vague, especially after we declined. We did it politely, if you’re wondering.”  
  
“While I am very glad that you refused,” Marwa interrupted, “that still does not explain how you uncovered this information.”  
  
Ana was the one who explained. “That was my doing. As I told General Mohmar, the Nile has run red for too long. Even if he wanted it to be silt again, we knew Talon would just exploit the chaos of a coup. So Jack and I broke into one of the militia offices there and grabbed as much data as we could.”  
  
“Except neither of you are particularly known for hacking. How did you get in?”  
  
“Hacking is mostly a matter of programs, and the black market has plenty of those for sale,” Morrison shrugged, folding his arms. “Menoubaroh’s IT was a few updates behind, it seems.”  
  
“I see. Then you left, and decided to come here because you could not just walk into the GIS office in Alexandria,” Marwa finished as she shook her head. “A fascinating story, but nearly impossible to corroborate.”  
  
“Take it or leave it, but Talon is our objective,” the former commander growled. “Now, any other questions, or are you going to try and arrest us?”  
  
_Why did you say that?_ Fareeha groaned silently as she watched. Was he _trying_ to start a fight? Her mother seemed to have a similar thought as she looked towards her co-conspirator, though said nothing.  
  
“That remains to be seen,” Marwa answered as she leaned back, holding her fingers together like a tent. “Commander, I’d ask that you keep them at the waystation for the near-future. No more than a few hours, anyways.”  
  
Kontar grimaced, and Fareeha knew why: even with the whole Raptora Squadron there, there was no guarantee they would be able to keep the two vigilantes in check without throwing them in a cell. And somehow, she doubted that the two would just go along with it. _Marwa is not that dense,_ she reminded herself, _she is betting on this being ‘don’t burn a source of intel’ despite the warrants._  
  
“Very well then,” the commander said as he turned to look at her. “Captain - the squadron leader,” he added with a quick look towards her mother, “I think a family reunion is long overdue, so I’ll postpone the Raptora Squadron’s return to base until later this evening. In fact, why not make it effectively a few hours of paid leave?”  
  
Tariq glanced at her from where he was manning the console, wincing, and that just told Fareeha that he had also read between the lines. She was to play catch-up with the woman that let her think she was dead for the better part of a decade, while letting Saleh take actual command of the squadron so she would not be tipped off if they had to go for an arrest. How he thought that would go over the heads of the two who would be arrested was beyond her, but no one said anything about it.  
  
She still felt a tempting desire to punch him in the face for using such a personal matter in such a way, but Fareeha kept it inside as it was useless, instead gritting her teeth as she saluted. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”  
  
He returned it, a little falter in his expression telling her that he caught the insincerity, though his answer back was sincere. “I trust you, Captain. Commander Kontar out.”  
  
The communications array powered down, and Tariq ran it through a boot-down process to make sure that nothing was left to be grabbed given that it was a relatively isolated waystation.  
  
The room remained silent for a few more long moments as everyone within looked around. Most had been silent, particularly the three members of the recalled Overwatch who had not been called on at all during the meeting. The security team who had the unenviable task of potentially having their faces introduced to the flooring by two living legends that from all recent indications still lived up to it were both relieved and horrified.  
  
And of course, it was her mother who broke the silence. “Come now, Fareeha. Can’t you give your mother a hug?”  
  
“I’ll uh, go put some tea on, or something,” Tracer started eyes wide as she looked like she was about to fight Doomfist again.  
  
“Yeah, mess hall’s available. I’ll uh, lock the CC once everyone else is out,” the waystation’s sergeant added, probably wishing that this had been just another boring day in the backwater rather than all the excitement going on.  
  
“Let’s take it there, then,” Fareeha said, though she knew all she was doing was delaying the inevitable.

* * *

  
After filing out of the command center and back into the mess hall, Tracer was good to her word as she disappeared into the galley to do get the tea ready. Brigitte pulled up a spare stool to put at the end of the table opposite of where Reinhardt had sat given her armor, while the hulking German sat down at the other end he had sat at earlier, though still in shock. Morrison stayed standing, leaning against a wall near enough to participate but far enough to not be a direct part of the conversation.  
  
Though her mother was clearly serious about that hug, she had apparently realized it was not a good time as she sat down herself, and Fareeha made a point of staying opposite of her. Silence reigned again, but it was not a silence that would last. Fareeha decided she was going to break it herself this time. She had to get control of the situation back.  
  
“How was Angela doing when you saw her?”  
  
Ana’s eyebrow raised at the particular choice of topic, and despite the tension Fareeha could see the surprise in her mother’s face as her expression faltered for just a moment.  
  
“Well enough,” she replied as she recovered, taking the bait of small talk. “Still stubbornly tending to the wounded, even if she’d betrayed them in the past.”  
  
“Betrayed?” Brigitte asked, though given that the Swede was looking between the two Amari women it was clear that she was still unsure as to whether she had any say in this conversation or not.  
  
“She went before the UN and decried Overwatch after Geneva,” Morrison growled from where he was leaning against the wall. “Sat in a dozen public hearings, and every time she played up the public’s nonsense about militarism, blaming it all on the two super soldiers having ever-more-violent disagreements.”  
  
_It was more complicated than that and you know it,_ Fareeha thought as she turned a brief glare towards him. But it was her mother who spoke up before she could.  
  
“She wasn’t blaming you as a person, Jack, just that things fell apart with Gabriel.”  
  
The former strike commander simply grunted, folding his arms as he watched. There was something that was left unsaid here, but her mother continued before anyone could say anything.  
  
“But you would know how she is doing better than I would, wouldn’t you?” Her mother’s attentioned returned to her daughter. “You have kept in touch with her, and a good thing too. For all her issues, she is a good woman.”  
  
“Yes, but…” Reinhardt started, still looking down at the table as he was processing it all, “you mean she _knew_?”  
  
“Only recently,” Fareeha cut in quickly. “She only found out when they arrived unannounced.”  
  
The German exhaled, shaking his head. “I had hoped she would come back. Torbjorn has jobs he must finish first, Genji is on the way, and many just haven’t answered, but the good doctor?” A moment of hesitation. “She called to refuse. Adamantly.”  
  
“Angela is a complicated person, Reinhardt,” Ana offered as she laid a comforting hand on his, causing the Crusader to smile. “She prefers helping people in a different way.”  
  
“Of course, but I still worry.”  
  
“I was hoping we would get the chance to stop by and say hello,” Brigitte mentioned, rubbing the back of her neck. “I know we linked up in the field, but if we have time…”  
  
“What, you mean my daughter _didn’t_ offer to give you a ride?”  
  
“This was a Helix mission,” the younger Amari explained though she was glad for the small talk, even as she dreaded when it would end. “We linked up near Damanhour, not Helix’s main base, and even if we did there was no time for a personal visit.”  
  
“And we left the van in Gibraltar…” Reinhardt added. “Not that we would have had room for it.”  
  
That was when Tracer came back from the mess hall’s galley, several cups held by her fingers in one hand and the waystation’s selection of tea in the other.  
  
“Tea’s almost done,” she started as she set the tray down before sliding the cups over the table. “Not a great selection though, Captain Amari.”  
  
Fareeha was about to pipe up about how the perks of life in a private military corporation over national militaries were overblown, but then it hit her that Oxton was looking past her. At her mother. Not at her, at _the_ Captain Amari.  
  
And her mother took it without a second thought. “That’s fine, thank you. How is Emily doing?”  
  
“Oh, uh, good! Still working at the OAA, setting up meetings with victims needing an advocate and all.”  
  
“I knew she was your better half,” the older Amari smiled, “take good care of her, Oxton.”  
  
Innocent as that might have been in intention, all it did was drudge up more memories. Particularly since they had been talking about Angela prior…  
  
_“Why become a soldier? Why not become a doctor, like Doctor Zegiler?”_  
  
_“Maybe I’d rather stop people from needing her in the first place?”_  
  
_“But it’s far more fulfilling to save a life! Imagine what you could do if you put this misplaced drive into biology rather than-”_  
  
“Fareeha?”  
  
It was her mother. Of course it was.  
  
“You aren’t saying much, habibti.”  
  
So much for getting around it.  
  
“How much can there be to say, if all I deserved was one letter?”  
  
Everyone fell silent as the words hit them. Reinhardt paused, his shock returning as he looked at her like she had just turned into an omnic. Brigitte leaned back on the stool, as if wishing she was much smaller now. Morrison looked up, but said nothing as he stayed against the wall. Tracer looked between them briefly, then took a half step back and blinked towards the galley.  
  
And her mother stared at her, her one good eye wide as her jaw lowered before she shut it and exhaled.  
  
“If you have something to say, Fareeha, spit it out.”  
  
This was it. There was no more time to dance around the issue: it was time to confront her mother head on.  
  
Perhaps wisely, Brigitte decided to get out of the blast radius. “I’ll go help Tracer. Reinhardt, you should too.”  
  
“I know little of…” though once look towards Fareeha was all Reinhardt needed to reconsider. “Ah, yes, of course.” He still looked worried as he got out of the way.  
  
And Morrison? He just silently walked outside, whether to stop anyone else from interrupting or to do something else.  
  
And with the mess hall to themselves, Fareeha kept her glare fixed on her mother.  
  
“One letter. Two years ago, and _one_ letter. Not a word since.”  
  
“You never wrote back. I didn’t want to force my-”  
  
“It’s not like there was a return address!” she snapped, slamming both fists against the table. “And it’s not like I didn’t try - I put the time and money to head home, to see if you would follow your letter. I spent days I could have been spending living _my_ life, the one _I_ worked for, left _my_ friends on their own, because I dared hope that my mother was alive!”  
  
The older Amari interrupted as her daughter stopped for breath. “And I did not want to endanger you, Fareeha. I thought I would be able to settle down quietly. Close enough to watch you fly higher. But I saw what was happening: Overwatch’s legacy in Egypt, what _I_ did. I could not just sit back as my people suffered. I had to deal with men like Hakim, if no one else could.”  
  
“You still could have come to me,” the younger Amari answered even as she felt her teeth grinding together. “It would have been a dream come true just to have you back, but to work together, to make the world a better place? Why stay in the shadows, why leave me in the dark? Why not ask me to help?”  
  
“Fareeha, you know why I couldn’t! Helix is as honorable as a PMC can get, but they are still a company. They have different priorities. And even then, they wouldn’t be able to get to Hakim’s cronies from their position. From your position.”  
  
Damn it why did her mother have to have a point? “Fine, you couldn’t come to me about this one-woman struggle of yours. I still deserved more than a letter! And so did Uncle Faruq, considering you dropped it on his doorstep!”  
  
This time her mother hesitated a moment before answering. “You both did, but if we were meeting and I was caught…”  
  
“We would be investigated either way once they ran your DNA,” Fareeha interrupted, wondering how her mother had missed that. “So what was the real reason? The fact that I still didn’t follow the footsteps of someone like Angela, like you wanted?”  
  
And just as she expected, her mother did not take such a direct jab lying down. “Fareeha, everything I did, I did because I wanted you to have a better life! I didn’t want you to have to suffer what I did, the pain of losing your friends in an ambush.”  
  
“The Anubis AI? You saw it happen?”  
  
“No, I was outside the city when it happened,” Ana admitted as she looked away. “But I saw the news. About Captain Khalil, Aizil, Mahmud, Okoro... and you.”  
  
Not having an immediate answer to that, Fareeha sat back in her chair. Was her mother finally coming around to her career choice? Could it be that, at long last, Ana Amari was going to admit that her daughter was right to try and continue the family’s legacy of soldiers? That she would finally admit to her daughter’s achievements, rather than a resigned sigh?  
  
“You stopped the god-program from waking up again, but the cost? What could it have been?”  
  
_And there it is again,_ Fareeha noted as she exhaled and felt herself settling deeper into the back of the chair.   
  
“If you mean regrets, then yes. I regret that none of us thought to have Okoro skip the mission, or that we had to blow apart three dozen omnics. I regret that I didn’t see the ambush until it was too late.”  
  
Pushing herself to her feet, Fareeha had one point she wanted to make clear. “But what I do _not_ regret is that I chose this life.” She pointed towards the tattoo beneath her right eye, the one so similar to the one beneath her mother’s left. “Angela is the one that heals. I am the one that _protects._”  
  
Sitting back down and lowering her hand, Fareeha waited for her mother’s answer. The elder Amari leaned back in her chair, closing her one good eye and exhaled, shaking her head. It seemed even after all these years, she still did not approve.  
  
_What was I expecting?_ Fareeha told herself. What she had told herself for so long: her mother had been under so much built up stress from leading Overwatch and all those missions, and even the comrades-in-arms she seemed to value more were unaware of it. So her mother had done everything she could to stop her from doing the same, and had never once asked what Fareeha wanted as she became a grown woman.  
  
“I suppose it was too much to expect this to be a happy reunion,” her mother finally lamented, shaking her head. “What happened to you? Has war changed my little girl so much?”  
  
“Or maybe this was exactly what you taught her. That there was nothing more important than protecting the ones you love.”  
  
They stared at each other, the older woman undaunted by being the smaller of the two now and the younger woman undaunted by the experience she was facing. Neither said anything, and all was quiet except for the faint echo of Tracer, Brigitte, and Reinhardt in the galley trying to distract themselves and Morrison talking to someone outside the mess hall.  
  
And ultimately, that turned out to be what ended the argument when the mess hall door suddenly opened.  
  
“Captain!”  
  
_“Yes?”_ both women answered, with Fareeha glaring at her mother given who had come in with Soldier 76 right behind them.  
  
It was the waystation’s sergeant. “Commander Kontar just called, Alexandria’s defense network was crashed four minutes ago, and there’s reports of attacks across the city.”  
  
Despite the lingering tension from the argument, Fareeha knew that she had to force it aside. She could not have her judgment compromised by this personal matter, especially if she was to ask others to follow her into battle. They might understand why this was important, but she still owed it to them to be the best she could for their sake.


	3. To the Fray

Walking into unknown danger was bad enough, but at least on her own two feet she could have some say in her fate. Sitting on an MV-261 Orca with Oxton at the helm, on the other hand?

_She's a good pilot,_ Ana reminded herself as she closed her one good eye briefly and leaned back against the headrest of the seat she was in.

The situation in Alexandria was still developing, but Helix had been asked to provide what quick response forces it had available to reinforce the local CSF units while they tried to mobilize. For now that meant the Raptora Squadron, and in this case the Overwatch hangers-on almost doubling their manpower, with Tracer's Orca being pressed into service as their dropship. Other QRFs would be sent in as they soon as they could lift off, but most of them were further out.

Fareeha did not say much, and seemed to be doing her best to avoid talking directly to her. She kept her orders towards her squadron, Tracer, Reinhardt, or Brigitte, leaving Ana and Jack as hangers-on to the mission. Another joint operation, with the Overwatch team officially being 'external auxiliaries temporarily recruited to pad manpower', or that was the legal fiction being used in the world of politics and diplo-speak.

And speaking of being that, Ana had been surprised that she and Jack were even allowed to fly on the mission. But Commander Kontar had asked Lieutenant Marwa to clear it, and the latter's superiors agreed as the situation was escalating. They were calling in Helix, after all, what were too more? The real question was whose career was on the line trusting two ghosts, super soldier and elite sniper or no, to actually help?

Not that it mattered as Ana listened. It was the same tense atmosphere she was used to, broken by the seemingly lax discipline as others were talking, trying to break the silence before they were certain to be killing and getting killed.

"Have to say, I could get used to this," one of the Raptora Squadron soldiers piped up - their tech specialist, Tariq. He was looking towards some of the modifications made to the transport to make it more comfortable from where he stood. Stood, as he was holding onto a railing as none of the Raptora Squadron could sit down with their jump jets on.

"Waste of good tonnage, if you ask me," Jack grumbled as he folded his arms, Tactical Visor lying on his lap as he glared at the basketball hoop that had been installed. "In the old days, I'd be writing Oxton up for a dozen broken regs by now."

"Bah! How long has it been since any of us were regulars?" Reinhardt chuckled, his hulking power armor rubbing against the armrest of the custom seat that had been rigged for him.

"I never was," Brigitte pointed out sheepishly.

It was Fareeha's second-in-command that retorted. "Really, I never would have noticed."

The squire shrugged, half smiling as someone snickered, then she glanced around briefly before asking a different question. "So, does anyone think that factory was supposed to open up now?"

"What do you mean?" Ana asked as she turned to look at her. "What factory?"

"Talon had a factory's worth of drones ready to unleash and more in production," Brigitte explained. "That could have been meant as a distraction for this."

Ana shook her head. Egypt's politics were a blind spot for the Swede, but only because she didn't have a reason to know. "No, General Mohmar would not associate with Talon."

"But Talon would stir the pot," Jack offered, resting a hand against the stock of his pulse rifle. "After all, an 'omnic' uprising while there's an anti-omnic coup going on?"

"We will never be certain, Strike Commander Morrison," Basil weighed in, the omnic turning its head as it stayed perfectly still otherwise.

"Okay, so maybe it wasn't a distraction," Brigitte conceded before she glanced towards Ana. "But who is this General Mohmar? I feel like I heard the name before."

"He was the one who secured a safe zone in Cairo when the Anubis AI awoke in 2069," Reinhardt supplied, a smile cutting through his grimace. "He was our liaison on the ground and the anvil the god-program's tide broke against. Egypt decorated him for his deeds."

_And that led to this,_ Ana bitterly noted to herself as the memories floated up. The desperate fight to give civilians something resembling a safe zone. Realizing that this was just like the Crisis - they had to go for a key strike before they were ground down by a metal tide. At least that time, they did not have to open the way by feeding conscripts into the grinder to fix the metal tide. That still did not change just how much damage was done to Egypt's economy both by the AI before it was revealed and the aftershocks from containing it.

"But it was also why he resigned," the old sniper continued. "He thought it was all the fear come to life. Himself, his father, the thousands of refugees and veterans who left unhappy with the peace, all proven right. And despite that, the government continued to integrate omnics back into society."

"And now he's come to destroy that same government, because they wouldn't listen to him?"

"This is a difficult matter, Brigitte," the Crusader hesitated as he looked to his squire. "I do not know enough to say."

Ana did, though. "It's a long story, but to make it short: after he resigned he went to Menoubaroh. He joined the numerous veterans and refugees who left in protest of omnic integration. His father was one of those who helped found the city, but it was Mohmar that gave them something more. A vision for the future, one inspiring enough to be elected as their leader."

"And he built an army there, didn't he?"

Fareeha finally spoke up to answer the squire's question. "Menoubaroh always had a militia, he just reorganized them to be more professional. We called him 'the elected warlord' back in the army."

"His timing is good, though," her second in command weighed in, looking between his captain and Brigitte. "My cousin is in the Ministry of Health and Population, and he's mentioned that the complaints have been piling up ever since Hakim went down."

Brigitte frowned. "But wouldn't that _help_?"

"Not when it just told everyone that President Amir couldn't deal with corruption," Saleh exhaled, shaking his head. "Then the aid slowed down as they investigated distribution. Yes, it was getting through now, but the news reported the slowdown rather than it getting through."

"The news reports what gets them clicks, not what's good for their country," Jack grumbled as he folded his arms.

"Okay, I think I get it now. Mohmar believes in a better future for Egypt, he's willing to start a civil war for it when the opportunity came, and he convinced a city-state to back this mad dream."

"Close enough," Ana admitted as while it was a gross simplification, and missed many details like her hand in what happened to Mohmar's father, it was enough to go on.

Before the conversation could go further, Tracer interrupted from the cockpit. "Captain Amari! I need you up here, Alexandria's commander is on the line!"

"I'll be right there," Ana started, starting to rise out of her seat.

Fareeha interrupted immediately. "She means _me_, not you."

Both women stared at each other for a moment as the cargo hold fell quiet, but Ana realized that her daughter was right. "Fine then. You're already standing."

Her daughter did not even wait for her to finish before turning away to make her way up the stairs to the cockpit. The abruptness left Ana wondering.

What had happened to the child she had raised? When did her little girl become so cold, so unwelcoming to her mother? What happened to the adorable bundle of joy that even Gabriel begrudgingly smiled about? Where had it all gone wrong?

All she could do was wonder about that, ask what army life had done to her. Especially as she noticed the Raptora Squadron glancing at each other. They knew something was up with their captain. And after a few seconds of the cargo hold being uncomfortably quiet, it was time that a mother got her answers.

"Lieutenant," she started as she looked towards the second-in-command. "Is Fareeha alright?"

"Captain- ah, Pharah's fine, ma'am," Saleh answered, trying to put on a brief grin despite the fact he had his bird-of-prey stylized helmet on. "She is intense when it comes to missions, but in a good way."

"Intense?" A better memory was surfacing, one that caused Ana to smile. "So, has she shouted about justice when firing off a barrage?"

Reinhardt immediately burst out into uproarious laughter, leaning back before he had to lean forward from it. "I remember that!"

Jack snorted. "You know that she would've grown out of it,"

Another few moments of uncomfortable silence, broken by Basil. "What do you mean?"

"When she was a little girl listening to this one's stories," Ana gestured towards Reinhardt, "she used to jump off his shoulders pretending she was bringing down a rocket hammer."

That was when Ana noticed the Helix lieutenant looking uneasy. "Right, of course," Saleh said before looking away.

"What was it she used to shout?" the Crusader asked, still chuckling between words. "Every time she jumped off, she had a battlecry!"

"_Justice rains from above_," Ana supplied with a chuckle as she reached into her pocket, pulling out a small projector and turning it on. "She wasn't always a hardened soldier, Lieutenant."

As the image sprang to life, one of a much younger Fareeha smiling with her mother and many of Overwatch's best, she saw the uncomfortable glances that the Helix mercenaries gave each other. She paid them no mind though, exhaling with a smile as she tried to remember the good times, why she kept herself in this life.

That was also when her daughter came back down.

* * *

Climbing up the stairs into the cockpit, Fareeha was able to see exactly why Tracer had called her up shown on one of the displays. Active communications with an Airborne Warning and Control System of the Egyptian Air Force, and based on the label the AWACS' callsign was Thoth.

Tracer heard her steps and smiled briefly. "Okay, good! Thoth, I've got her here!"

"Understood, Tracer," came the voice from the AWACS - one that Fareeha recognized immediately. General Nuru, who had been her commanding officer during most of her tenure in the Egyptian Army. He ended up transferring into the Central Security Forces while she joined Helix, and had done very well for himself as he had recently been promoted to be the CSF's Director General.

Which, if he was operating out of an AWACS, indicated that something had gone horribly wrong and prevented him from using his headquarters on the ground while forcing him into the air. Still, having him in charge was reassuring if only for the familiarity.

"What are your orders, sir?" Fareeha asked, turning her attention to the other display that was showing the positions of Alexandria's defense network nodes and official installations, but little else. A couple positions marked for the OPFOR, the opposing force, but barely anything past that.

"I'm sending what combat information we have to you. Your priority is to take back Lighthouse Gamma: insurgents have taken the facility and are using it as the centerpiece for their jamming. Most of the other sites are down, so we have been unable to counteract it. Secondary nodes are also broadcasting jamming signals, but it will be limited without Gamma."

"Understood, Thoth. What resistance should we expect?"

"So far we've been fighting infantry with the occasional heavy weapon, but well disciplined. Several depots were under attack when the jamming came, so they may have stolen CSF equipment and vehicles."

"And reinforcements?"

"Limited. The first response aircraft were sabotaged or the hangars were hit in the first attacks, so our QRFs have to drive. I'm getting mixed reports from army units, but they need time to mobilize. And even if we can get aircraft here from Cairo, they can't target anything with the jamming."

And Helix's other potential units were just a bit too far out to get there in time to join the attack. Not what she wanted to hear, but this was the situation she had to deal with. "I understand. We'll do what we can to disable the jamming."

"Good. Afterwards we can look for the missing VIPs - I've sent you the information we have in case you find them."

Fareeha glanced to the side at the list, and felt her gut tighten as she saw it. The president, at least a dozen ministers, and a laundry list of parliament representatives reported missing. While optimistically many would have already been found or had just taken shelter in a safehouse, even those that were safe would be unable to extract with the jamming. After all, the transports did not know _where_ extraction was even necessary.

_Focus on that later,_ she told herself. "Our priority will be the jamming, extraction is impossible otherwise."

Nuru scoffed, the amused tic she had heard so many times as some thought of his was proven correct. "Eyes on target as always. Good luck, Captain. Thoth out."

"Good thing he stopped," Tracer added as she glanced up briefly as Athena was warning about her uplink losing connection. "We're entering the jamming."

"That was probably why," Fareeha offered as she looked towards the tactical map. "Tracer, how much of a landing zone do you need?"

"Orcas are VTOLs, but I still need width. Maybe a parking lot, or a really big roof?"

"Or a parking garage roof?"

Tracer paused a moment, leaning over as Fareeha pointed to a location just south of the target on the main navigation display. "Yeah, that'd work."

Giving Oxton a quick nod, Fareeha turned around and made her way back down. She had to brief the team on the drop and tell them what they were about to get into. They were going to need Tariq's countermeasures to keep their comms functional even at short range, but they could work with that. They had no idea of the opposition, but the Raptora Squadron trained expecting that because there was no way of knowing what an awakened god-program would have.

Any further tactical considerations were halted as she stepped down the stairs and heard her mother talking.

"Justice rains from above!" her mother chuckled as she finished. "She wasn't always a hardened soldier, Lieutenant."

Fareeha's cheeks heated up as the childhood memories resurfaced - no, she was not particularly embarrassed about them on their own. Not like what she remembered about helping Jesse spike Jack's coffee that one time or the other stupid things she did as a kid. It was how this was happening, or perhaps more importantly the _when_.

Especially as her mother had turned on a holographic photo she recognized all too well from having a copy of her own lying somewhere in her footlocker back in Giza.

_This is not the time_ was the one thing that was conscious in her mind as she entered the cargo hold and cleared her throat. "We have our target, team!"

To their credit the rest of the Raptora Squadron looked quite eager to be able to ignore the distraction. And in fairness, her mother did turn the projector off and stick it back into her pocket. That did not change the fact that a picture of her as a _child_ was what her mother seemed to be carrying around. Another distraction that Fareeha had to shove aside as she moved towards the holo-display, keyed it to a map of Alexandria, and started pointing to locations as she briefed them.

"Our mission for now is to retake Lighthouse Gamma, which has been captured by insurgents and is the nerve center of the OPFOR jamming while the rest of the network is down. We'll be landing at a parking garage half a klick south of the station, then we fight our way to the target. Gizmo!"

"Yes, captain?" Tariq answered.

"You're going to be on the ground for this one, Overwatch escorts you into the Lighthouse so you can crash the jamming."

He nodded, checking his wrist control for his suit's ESM modules instead of rocket hardpoints. "I'll put my ESM towards our short range comms, but I cannot guarantee anything past a hundred meters."

"That's fine. Ghulam, Akkad, Corva, Warhammer," Fareeha continued with Saleh, Basil, Gamilla, and Dietrich each looking up in turn as their callsigns were called out, "You four are with me: we are going to attack from above to clear the way for the ground team."

The four sounded off their acknowledgments, while Reinhardt put a hand on Morrison's shoulder.

"Just like old times, eh Jack?"

The supersoldier grunted, though a faint smile crossed his lips.

"Opposition?" Saleh asked as he looked at the display.

"Disciplined insurgent infantry at the very least," she answered as she knew they had to be ready for anything, "Numbers are unknown, and they may have stolen CSF vehicles and equipment."

Naturally, it was at the prospect of jumping into unknown danger that her mother finally weighed in.

"So you're going to jump us in blind?"

"We don't have time to infiltrate the area on foot," Fareeha turned towards her mother. "General Nuru needs comms back ASAP: a large number of VIPs are missing, including the President."

A muttering of curses and grimaces answered, but it did the job of impressing on them the need for speed in this attack. Even her mother fell silent rather than try to protest that it was even more reason to take it slowly.

"Any other questions? No? Good, grab your weapons and stand by for the green light!"

A chorus of acknowledgments rang out, save for Morrison who just folded his arms and her mother who just exhaled. The Raptora Squadron grabbed their weapons from the rack, checking them all and their comms once the electronic support measures in Tariq's suit were online. It was a familiar drill, verbal confirmations of checks, ammo counts, and small talk that had defined every pre-mission wait before the green light. The only difference was who was doing the checking.

Reinhardt and Brigitte were fitting in the last of their equipment, particularly their shield generators and the Crusader's massive rocket hammer. Morrison put on his tactical visor and ran a systems diagnostic to make sure it was linked up with his pulse rifle. And her mother was checking her rather extensive collection of darts, color coded for various usages including a bluish one that Basil was quite suspicious of.

"Though only as suspicious as you should be about her antibiotic darts," the omnic admitted as Fareeha asked him why he was staring so intently at it.

"She should be more worried about the sleep darts. Sometimes, justice needs a little nap."

Exhaling at her mother's joke, Fareeha just shook her head and focused on the coming drop rather than the aside glances her subordinates were giving each other. It helped that Brigitte had a question just then.

"So this Lighthouse network, it's a jamming system?" the Swede asked.

"More of a general ESM suite," Fareeha answered before her mother could weigh in. "Jamming, early warning radar, guiding artillery or interception, even air traffic control or weather updates."

"Did the well-to-do whine when the towers went up like they did in Gothenburg?"

Tariq snorted as he glanced at her. "Oh, my grandparents were _livid_. So what if the network would help put nuclear annihilation to bed, the coastal station ruined their view!"

"And made the property less valuable?" Gamilla offered as well, causing Morrison to give a knowing scoff.

"Yeah, all that white noise from the generators. Cooler heads prevailed, though."

"Wait, you have family in Alexandria?" Reinhardt asked, sharply as if a light had sparked to life in his head. "Will they be okay?"

"Considering that I'm from Port Said? Yes." He chuckled. "Thank you, though."

The aging Crusader exhaled as Fareeha found herself smiling - Reinhardt still had it.

"So, was it done in time for the Crisis?" Brigitte asked, bringing them back from the digression.

That was when Fareeha's mother weighed in. "It was. Without it, Egypt would have been destroyed during the Crisis, or by the warlords that followed it."

"Which means," Saleh cut in with the perhaps obvious but still vital observation, "we're dealing with someone who understands that perfectly. General Mohmar _will_ be expecting us to try and take it back."

The cargo bay lights suddenly turned red, and Tracer's voice interrupted any immediate answer. "Landing in thirty seconds!"

The squadron leader seized her tech specialist's point to pivot back to the present. "Exactly, Saleh. Now then, who's ready to go stomp out another warlord's dreams?"

"Haha, always!" Reinhardt laughed, slamming his fists together with the grin he must have been wearing under his helmet audible.

Saleh spoke next. "We're with you, Captain."

"Then line up, we've got a mission to complete!"

Fareeha was up front, the Raptora Squadron behind her and the Overwatch team (plus Tariq) behind them with Reinhardt the separator. The fight or flight instinct in her body was already kicking in, ironically because of the lack of small arms firing pinging off the transport. Just no opposition on the way in, or was she about to deploy right into a storm of bullets just waiting for a ramp to drop?

Exhaling to force the thought away, Fareeha glanced back to see her mother still looking towards her. One good eye staring at her.

"Three… two… one… now!"

The ship's lights turned green as Tracer counted down, the ramp dropped, and Fareeha only needed to give one order.

"Go go go!"

The ramp was still lowering as she ran forward, but that was fine as she activated her jump jets and rocketed into the air, gaining altitude and pushing towards the Lighthouse node ahead. It was a tower at least thirty meters tall (including the one-story base building), not unlike an archaic radio antenna, though much wider and with several rotating sub-systems with running lights on along the structure. A dual layer perimeter fence surrounded the building and its courtyard, though it lacked depth thanks to its urban location.

And around the tower she could see the enemy. Light infantry as reported, various partisans with older gear and red armbands as their identifier. Some on street level, some at the base building, some on the rooftops, and some manning a barricade on the street from the parking garage to the facility. All were shifting position to find cover they could engage from, and there was at least half a platoon, likely more, arrayed against them. With any civilians in the area having already taken cover deep indoors, they were free to attack.

"Hostiles ahead, engage at will!" she ordered, aiming her rocket launcher towards the barricade on the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick bit from me before the action kicks off: a lot of ideas start smaller, and this one is no different. What started as wanting to take something and play it dead serious quickly grew into a larger idea involving Fareeha and Ana's relationship and the latter's issues with the former's career choices, crafting a larger background to set the context of everything, even a couple headcanons like the bit about Tracer's Chronal Accelerator messing with her sleep cycle. It's still in progress, but I hope that you enjoy reading the final story as much as I am enjoying writing it.


	4. Contact

Ana knew why Fareeha had to leap out like she did, she only had maneuverability while Reinhardt could use his shield to lead the charge. That did not make it any easier to watch her jump into a firefight where she had no protection but her armor.

And there were plenty of potential killers out there. As the rest of the team disembarked Ana could see enemies on the road ahead and a few in rooftop positions, several of which started engaging the Raptora Squadron. A rocket hit the barricade on the road, though she was too far to see just what carnage her daughter had inflicted.

Still, the parking garage they had landed on offered her a good vantage point to provide overwatch to the rest of the ground team. "Go ahead, I'll cover you!"

"Then we have nothing to worry about!" Reinhardt laughed as he ran down the steps down and vaulted over the edge of the first landing, "Follow me, friends!"

The others followed the loud thud as the Crusader hit the ground running. Jack was able to drop down similarly to Reinhardt thanks to his super soldier augmentations with a slight run forward to bleed out the momentum, Gizmo didn't bother with the stairs and instead used his jump jets to assist a closer landing, while Brigitte landed on her feet but with a grunt and a forced crouch as she had it all hit her.

Ana looked down the scope of her rifle - the enemy infantry were spreading out into cover as they did not want to stay in sight of her daughter's rocket launcher. They had been briefly suppressed by the Raptora Squadron, but once they knew what they were against they began to counterattack, with most directing their attention towards Reinhardt and his shield. They were trusting their comrades further back to deal with the air, particularly as Ana saw a deployed machine gun on the roof of the Lighthouse station.

She heard a distinct whoosh and turned, Tracer blinking past and running ahead towards the fight, machine pistols in hand. Regularly glancing back to make sure no one snuck up on her, Ana aimed ahead. A sniper shot rang out from above, impacting near the machine gun and was followed by a rocket from the other sniper's captain. Her daughter was on the attack, engaging the insurgents beyond the barricade, evasively bobbing and weaving but never stopping to seek cover.

"Ana, rooftop gunner, my one o'clock!"

Reinhardt's warning shook Ana from her straying focus. Much as she wanted to be ready to help the most aggressive of the team, those closer needed support in dealing with hard-to-hit targets. She saw the gunner that Reinhardt had called out to his forward right, who was engaging Brigitte with a submachine gun. The squire's shield stopped the bullets as she advanced, but would it hold under sustained automatic fire?

Lining up the reticle of her scope with the center mass of the gunner, Ana pulled the trigger and shot the antibiotic dart into the woman's collarbone, catching her just above the ballistic vest she was wearing. The gunner immediately began to spasm as the nanite toxins were dispensed, dropping her gun and collapsing backwards in a fit of coughing.

She would be unconscious soon enough, and without medical aid would be dead sometime later. It was the kind of slow death that Ana loathed, but that was the price of using a biotic rifle rather than her old Kinamura. Still, it neutralized the target. They could stabilize prisoners and interrogate them later, right now they had a firefight to win.

"Grenade launcher, rooftop, ten o'clock!" Reinhardt warned as he raised his barrier to stop an explosive impact from his forward left. While the barrier was fine, there was no reason to leave it subject to repeated strikes.

"I've got-" Ana started before an explosion rocked the man with the launcher and blew him off the roof and into the streets with a scream. Jack had dealt with the problem with his rifle's underslung rockets.

Ana moved her aim onwards, taking down another insurgent on the left side rooftop. _They must be pickets watching the street on the other side,_ she decided as she checked her flank when Brigitte suddenly cried out.

Shifting her attention to the right side of the street, she saw the problem: a fireteam had flanked the squire as she and Tracer had been too quick in advancing. The fireteam avenged the three comrades that the two had torn through, punishing the squire with a full volley to her backside as Oxton had blinked on past to attack another. Brigitte's pained cry suggested far worse, but she had managed to turn around and put her barrier between further lead and herself.

"Brigitte!" Reinhardt cried, turning his head towards his wounded squire, though he did not get the chance to react. Ana and Tracer were on the offending insurgents before the Crusader could drop his shield and introduce them to a firestrike.

_Disciplined, coordinated, and trying to exploit our aggression,_ Ana observed even as she shot one of the two enemies in the neck, the dart injecting the soon-fatal dosage of antibiotics. Oxton opted for a simpler approach as she often did: blinking into position and letting her machine pistols perforate her target's center mass with a near-instant hail of gunfire.

"Watch your damn corners kid!" Jack chided the squire as he was checking his own, gunning down the last of the first barricade's squad on the left.

"Right side's clear!" Tracer added as she popped up again crouching behind a parked car, "Brig, you okay?"

"Yeah, mostly! Armor…" a brief moment of hesitation that sounded like she had sharply inhaled to bite back a curse. "Armor took it!"

Ana switched the purple antibiotic darts for golden-yellow healing nanites, and lined up a shot on Brigitte. Just because the Swede was trying to brush it off did not mean she was uninjured. _Just like her father,_ the old sniper mused as she fired off the dart.

"Ow! What was-"

"You'll be fine," Ana chided as she then checked for more immediate threats - but Jack confirmed what she just figured out.

"Barricade's clear!" Jack called out, Reinhardt shifting to the right to make sure Brigitte was covered as she got back into position. This also meant that they were beginning to move out of the most effective range of the biotic rifle if she stayed where she was.

"Understood, I'll move up," Ana added as she moved down the flight of steps and looked over the railing.

"Go, Ana, we'll be fine!" Reinhardt called as the ground team kept its advance steady.

Pulling herself over the railing and lowering herself as much as she could before dropping down with a roll, Ana did not respond. The last thing she needed was to accidentally bite her tongue after a four meter drop. She had done worse, but she was also a lot _younger_ when she was slapping limpet charges onto omnic spider-tanks.

But despite the dull ache in her old bones, she broke into a run to get into her next position. The insurgents around the Lighthouse itself had fallen back inside under the airborne assault, but others around the corner of the buildings opposite of the station were still fighting outside. Fareeha's squadron had isolated them from the Lighthouse, and as there were still five jetpacks in the air they were doing well.

At least until a burst of tracers came from a building on the left side - one last insurgent from that end whose submachine gun unloaded a volley past and into her daughter. Ana's heart almost skipped a beat.

Yes, Fareeha maneuvered out of the way of the burst so that she only took grazing hits and retaliated with a rocket. That did not change the Overwatch founder's knowledge of what could have happened, let alone seeing it with her own eye.

_She's going to get herself killed like this,_ the old sniper thought as threw her weight into a coffee parlor's door. "I'm heading for the right side roof!" she reported into the comms as she breached past.

"Got it, be careful!" the former Strike Commander answered. "Gizmo, keep your head down!"

"I am!"

Fortunately there was no opposition inside and the stairs were easy to find. She only slowed down enough to check her corners for traps, then once she climbed up a fire exit had her new vantage point. Kneeling behind the slight difference in rooftop elevation between buildings, she was about to line up a shot on a rooftop insurgent but stopped herself from firing as a metallic blue blur landed atop of him. An eviscerating shotgun burst that Ana had a zoomed in view on left her wincing at the handiwork of her daughter's omnic squadmate.

"Gunn… elim…ted." she heard over the squad radio frequency; she was just close enough to get some of Basil's communications, though she did not hear whatever answer her daughter gave. So she navigated the rooftops forward, dodging the various fixtures on top or vaulting over them if she could to take up her next position.

The firefight ended before she was in position, the last insurgent outside the Lighthouse collapsing into sprays of his own blood as pulse rifle rounds tore through his chest.

"That's the last one outside, captain!" Saleh reported.

Ana took up her new position at the corner of the building just across from the Lighthouse, and signaled for Jack to move forward as she scanned the building itself and those opposite. No one else seemed to be coming out, and she could hear the Helix mercenaries descending slowly.

"Pharah, do you read?" Jack asked over the squad comms, static obscuring some of his voice.

"Partial copy, Seventy-Six. Repeat, partial copy." There was more static in her answer though as she was still at a higher altitude.

"We're moving up to breach. Repeat, breach imminent."

"Pharah copies."

The local gunfire was gone, but Ana knew this would not be the end of it. "Raptora Squadron, set up a perimeter. No surprise flankers."

"I uh… Captain?" she heard Henderson asked, the American mercenary looking to her commander.

"She's right, Corva. Set up a perimeter," why did Fareeha's voice have that tinge of annoyance? "Actually, Warhammer! Partner up on the rooftop!"

"Yes, captain!" the German answered as he looked around, then dropped towards Ana and landed with a small impact that left cracks in the rooftop. "Captain Amari," he acknowledged as he landed.

"Warhammer," she acknowledged back as she looked at the anti-material rifle he had. "Yours can penetrate, so you'll provide overwatch for the breaching team."

"Understood, you watch the others," he answered as he knelt, flipping a second scope up from its side mounted storage and scanning the target building.

On the street below Reinhardt was preparing to breach with Brigitte and Tracer taking up positions behind him, all three using an overturned armored car next to the perimeter fence as cover. Jack and Tariq were right below the snipers, taking similar cover behind a parked car.

"Gizmo, there's a huge thermal signature at the center of the Lighthouse."

"Probably the generators," the tech specialist answered. "How many insurgents, Warhammer?"

A pause as the younger sniper swept the building. "I count a dozen human signatures, but half look to be prisoners. You hear that, Crusader? Potential prisoners inside."

"We will liberate them if they are!" Reinhardt barked back. "Are you ready?"

"Lead the way!" Tracer answered as she held her pistols up.

"_Follow me to glory!_"

That was when Reinhardt leapt out from behind the van, barrier springing into life as rifle rounds and a grenade slammed into it. The energy barrier took the blows, and the insurgents found themselves subjected to an assortment of fire from Jack's own pulse rifle, Tracer's pistols, and a shot from the Helix sniper punching through the wall and removing the arm of the insurgent with the underslung grenade launcher.

Ana was not too concerned, it was well in hand and her job was to cover outside. Besides, Jack and Reinhardt had cleared plenty of bunkers before, and that was against Bastions. These insurgents, clever as they were, were not going to win this fight short of a trap. Still, it did not stop her from listening to what her German counterpart said as he offered what he could to the breaching team via his thermal scope.

"He dodged into the clos- nevermind, good takedown Tracer."

Other than that, things seemed quiet as she looked down the street with her own scope. No one on foot, and the Raptora Squadron were landing on the rooftops and taking their own overwatch positions on both streets, ready to leap up and engage. Fareeha was on the building next to the Lighthouse complex, a location that conveniently put distance between mother and daughter as all angles were covered.

She was about to move on, though, when she saw movement rounding a distant corner, prompting her to look down her scope and zoom in. Not even a second later, she saw a familiar beige paint job on an eight-wheeled infantry fighting vehicle with a hasty white smear where there should have been the Egyptian flag. And it was just the first of a convoy.

"Vehicles, east road!" the old sniper called out. "Markings painted over! Get to cover!"

"What the-" Warhammer started, both snipers throwing themselves backwards as they heard a dull thud, the whistle of a travelling projectile, felt its wake, and heard an explosion. It had hit the building opposite of them across the street, but both acted quickly. Ana could feel the heat of exhaust as the sniper next to her shot into the air, while Ana herself moved away from the edge to stay in cover. Avoiding being spotted and shot at was her only defense against shells being fired at a thousand meters per second, after all.

But as she looked up, her heart sank as she saw her daughter's response to such a threat.

* * *

"Everyone airborne, _now_!"

Rocketing into the air despite the sudden g-forces dampened by her suit's internals, Fareeha heard the explosion from the lead vehicle's miss and knew that it was already reloading. She recognized them through her helmet's rangefinder - infantry fighting vehicles, with the lead vehicle configured as a mounted gun system while the other three had the more standard grenade launcher and machine guns in their remote weapons stations.

Given the ominous-for-the-role reporting name 'Jackal', this model of IFV was Egypt's mainstay before and since the Omnic Crisis. Boxy with a sloped front and an eight wheel drivetrain, it was not the most elegant of vehicles, but it was easy to manufacture, drive, and maintain. Without the larger gun system each one was capable of carrying at least a half-dozen infantry each, and the armor provided them protection from small arms as they were burning down the street.

Even if she was fully confident that the ground team could defend the Lighthouse if stormed in such a way, that was no reason to let it happen. They needed to get mobile to avoid the machine guns already firing and stay ahead of the impromptu anti-air, then take care of the convoy.

"Ghulam, Corva, strike left! Akkad, with me! Warhammer, slot the front vic!"

"Yes captain!" "Acknowledged!" "Order received." "Yes captain!" Saleh, Gamilla, Basil, and Dietrich's answers in turn, near simultaneous as they acted.

Dietrich dropped down to a building behind them, where he could bring his anti-material rifle to try and hit components closer to the surface like the front engine block, possibly stalling the convoy. Saleh and Gamilla went to the left as ordered, staying airborne as bullets trailed towards them. That left Akkad on the right with her, following her at a lower altitude as she led the way.

This split the machine gun fire from the convoy, already inaccurate by their current distance, but they were closing fast. She needed to get a rocket barrage into them as soon as she could, before they could stop to disembark. Unfortunately, a snag in the plan came as Dietrich's first shot hit the lead vehicle.

"Jamming preventing lock-on," Basil reported, his voice clearer than the others even as another shot from the lead vehicle roared through the fight.

"Then we get closer," she ordered, blinking with practiced repetition so that the helmet would adjust. A targeting reticule appeared in the heads up display - where the rockets would travel once fired. Manual firing meant she would have to maintain line of sight while attacking, but it would at least allow her to engage. Saleh and Gamilla realized likely realized the same thing, staying low where the building offered them some cover.

When the insurgents started using airburst grenades fired at indirect angles from the IFVs, both teams knew it was time as they rocketed back into the air. Machine gun fire followed in an attempt to track and shrapnel flew from the exploding grenades, but they were close enough to dumbfire. The convoy was stalled, the lead vehicle losing drive as Dietrich's rifle had finally taken out its engine. The second IFV in the convoy had opened up, a half-dozen insurgents trying to quickly dismount. A target of opportunity.

"Fire!" Fareeha's one word was all they needed, and each of their Raptora suits opened up the rocket pods they were so famous for.

Despite the machine gun and rifle fire from below, each member of the team opened up and targeted a different vehicle in the convoy in order. Fareeha, Gamilla, Basil, and Saleh targeting each section in turn, just like their countless drills. Holding her launcher to the side, the compartments on Fareeha's armor opened, releasing a swarm of micro-missiles forward. The others did the same, hammering their respective IFVs from above.

The lead vehicle's gun mounting exploded as the firing chamber was breached, cooking off live ammo, leaving a hole in the roof, and removing the largest gun the insurgents had. The other three IFVs also had their weapons disabled even as one last grenade volley shot into the air - the armor was too thick on both vehicles to allow them to be outright destroyed by their relatively small ordnance, but they were mission killed. Good enough for the immediate firefight, especially as they could not stay airborne.

The aforementioned grenades had exploded in mid air, the force of the blasts pushing them back. Not enough they lost control, in fact if anything might be an issue it was the shrapnel that flew past and wedged itself into their jet packs. Not enough to cripple them, but it was enough to leave them open to worse as they recovered.

"Ghulam is hit!"

Basil's immediate warning - the advantages of omnic processing capabilities in a firefight - barely registered to Fareeha as she saw it with her own eyes. One of the insurgents who had escaped the barrage on the second IFV had managed to get behind him from the ground and shot up his jetpack enough that his right jet failed entirely, sending him careening towards her. Before she could reposition herself or he could recover from being much closer to the previous grenades, he hit her and they both ended up falling towards a rooftop.

Training kicked in as Fareeha managed to shove him to the side as they went down, though she lost her grip on her rocket launcher. She angled her jump jets away from the rooftop, taking the landing on her right shoulder as both skidded against the hard geopolymer concrete surface behind a sloped skylight roof.

Groaning, Fareeha put a hand to her head and looked ahead of her. That was also when she realized that someone was talking into her ear.

"Captain, come in!"

"Gizmo?" she asked, blinking as she suddenly noticed that her heads up display was showing more information than before, that she was getting combat telemetry again from her squadmates' suits. Saleh and Gamilla both had warnings on the squad readout, but both were still marked as alive.

"She's wounded - Reinhardt, get out here! Fareeha's hurt!"

"I'm fine, mom!" she snapped back as she pushed herself to her feet and took quick stock of her situation. A building further from the Lighthouse than she had launched from, and there was some cover in the form the aforementioned skylight, a roof-mounted AC unit, or the stairs below. Her rocket launcher was at the edge on the far side from the firefight, having landed on the roof and skidded over. Saleh had managed to hold onto his rifle, and as he coughed she knew he would be alright.

"That was a grenade! Stand still-"

Her mother must have moved forward from the Lighthouse as Fareeha quickly felt the sting against her left side. Soothing as the rush of biotic nanites might have been, it did not change the fact that insurgents - however few - were still danger close and were exchanging fire with Basil.

The omnic had landed near Gamilla's position, covering her. She was still alive, but still shot and recovering from her landing. The only question was how bad it was and how much was mitigated by armor. The insurgents on the street threw a grenade up, but the omnic managed to spot it in time to kick it away so that it exploded away from his hurt squadmate. But as she grabbed her own rocket launcher, the lack of a similar attempt on this rooftop made Fareeha suspicious.

"Ghulam, status?" she asked as her mother pegged Saleh with a biotic dart and was moving on to Gamilla.

"Armor took most of it," he answered as she aimed her rocket launcher at the door. "Jump jets are shot."

"Fall back you four! You're too exposed."

Fareeha grit her teeth, and not from the biotic dart ejecting itself, looking back towards her mother's new position. "Reinhardt, ETA?"

"Seconds!" he answered, the sound of his armor's rocket kicking in about that time.

"You should-" Fareeha did not hear the rest of her mother's order as that was when the door to the rooftop burst open, the moment that her overwatch was distracted by her mother's backseat commanding.

"Go go go!"

The insurgents had sent a few men to try and clear them, the leader of that team having broken past the door with his full weight and threw himself down into cover. Another followed, similarly diving for cover as the third insurgent stayed at the door and opened fire. A round of the burst winged Fareeha's right arm, but the squadron leader turned with the hit and clenched her left hand into a fist pointed towards the doorway. The wrist launcher released its payload, a concussion rocket slamming into the door and the third insurgent was blasted down the stairwell.

"Azra!"

Despite her own tension and frantic reactions as adrenaline overpowered any pain from the shot to the arm, Fareeha still heard the insurgent's cry. The momentary distraction gave her the chance to get to a better position, in this case behind the rooftop AC unit. Saleh stayed behind the skylight and was trading fire with the other insurgent on the other side, though both missed as they had just stuck their rifles overhead rather than their heads to better aim.

"Stay still, taking the shot!" Words backed up by the streak of Dietrich's anti-material rifle tearing through the skylight and into an enemy.

Fareeha capitalized on it, storming ahead and using her jump jets to get over the skylight while her sniper reloaded. Despite the shock of how fast his two battle buddies had been killed, he saw her and raised his rifle. An underslung grenade shot past her; he missed, she did not.

There was no time to dwell on the cratered rooftop: her squadmates were still in a firefight.

"Basil, how many?" Fareeha asked as she turned to get eyes on the situation.

"Three OPFOR remain- negative, two. Firestrike on-target, Reinhardt."

"Stay down, I've got them!" Reinhardt's shout was clear, as was the sound of his armor's rocket propelling him into the firefight. He hurtled to the base of the building that Fareeha had launched from, out of her line of sight yet sound told its own story. A crash into the building, a shrill scream, a hammer slam, and sickening crunches accompanying all. With those bloody smears, the immediate area fell silent again.

"Area clear," Basil reported, echoed by Reinhardt, Dietrich, and her mother. Fareeha did her own check, and agreed as she set back down on the roof.

"Good job, team. Corva, are you alright?"

"Will be!" she answered, though there was an audible wince. "Took a few rounds in the leg."

Nothing that the already administered biotic injection would not deal with in the short term. The long term on the other hand would require proper treatment. Fareeha had listened to Angela vent about people's assumptions of biotics as a long-term cure all often enough, never mind her own first aid training. But that kind of treatment was for the post-battle, when they could take off their armor to pull out bullets, treat burns, and everything else. For now, she turned her attention towards the Lighthouse and saw that it had powered down, for now at least.

"Understood. Ghulam lost a jet, so we'll head back on foot. Gizmo, SITREP."

Tariq's situation report still had static lingering in it, but she could understand him completely. "Jamming has been disabled and we rescued the prisoners that the OPFOR took - technicians. The techs are going to help reactivate the Lighthouse, but it will take some time."

"Understood, any word on reinforcements?"

"Negative, but I have _not_ tried long range comms yet."

"Check them, I need to report in once our perimeter is up."

"Acknowledged, see you back at the station."

Reinhardt, joined by Basil and Gamilla jumping down, checked for survivors as Fareeha and Saleh cleared their way down the stairs given the damage to the latter's jet. None of the OPFOR convoy had survived, and as it turned out the convoy hadn't been carrying another platoon as Fareeha had feared. Instead it had been a half squad plus crews, likely sent to give the Lighthouse station some armored firepower and were trucking over infantry that could be spared while on the way.

All in all, even with the injuries and equipment damage it had been a good engagement. That convoy, plus the thirty to forty insurgents they had fought on the way to the Lighthouse, was more than enough for what the Raptora Squadron had endured. They would certainly see further action that day, but she would happily take on the same kind of injuries herself if she could keep it going this well.

* * *

Once they were back at the Lighthouse, they set to work organizing the perimeter. For Fareeha, that meant stationing herself on the facility's rooftop so she had good observation of all angles. Her mother and Dietrich were on the rooftop as well - no doubt an excuse for her mother to get closer, but it was a good position for the snipers.

_Put it aside, you have a job to do still,_ she chided herself as she keyed the frequency needed to report their success.

"AWACS Thoth, this is Pharah. Lighthouse Gamma is secure. Repeat, Lighthouse Gamma secured."

"Thoth copies Lighthouse secured," answered a radio officer, still some faint static which likely meant other jammers were active but unable to interfere sufficiently. "Stand by."

Fareeha heard the faint sounds of movement, and General Nuru's voice came in. "Good job, Captain. We're assessing the battlespace and establishing tactical datalinks, but your unit needs to hold the Lighthouse until I can move other troops in to secure it. Understood?"

Fareeha winced, and not because of a distant explosion too far for them to worry about immediately. Rather, it was knowing that being assigned to hold a position in the long term denied her squadron's best advantage: mobility.

"Understood, we will hold until relieved," she said instead. "Helix has another QRF inbound, correct?"

"Yes, I'll have them deploy to your position. Stand by, we'll patch you through. Thoth out."

_Good, they should be able to take over garrison duty,_ Fareeha noted, and with a little luck they will have brought entrenching gear to further fortify the position.

A few moments later, she heard an omnic's voice cut in. "Fordo-Six to Pharah, QRF from Damanhour is inbound to your position. We have the coordinates of your landing zone, and will arrive there in twelve minutes."

"Pharah copies. Be advised, our transport is still there."

"Acknowledged. Fordo-Six out."

With nothing to do but hold their position, they were left with the duality of warfare: moments of pure terror and rushing adrenaline broken up by sudden monotony and boredom. Often as the sounds of battle and chaos were not far away to boot as they licked their wounds. In this case, Brigitte repairing what she could with what she had on-hand, and checking the injuries taken.

But dealing with the wounded meant dealing with _all_ the wounded. Including the insurgents who had survived with injuries without dying in the interim as they secured the area. Only a few had lived that long - two from gunshots to the chest mitigated by body armor, another who had gone into shock due to shrapnel, and one who managed to not die from the poisoned dart launched into her collarbone.

"The one failing of the biotic rifle," Fareeha heard her mother remark as Morrison reported that he had stabilized the poisoned insurgent and would bring her back. "It cannot kill cleanly."

"But you can heal your squad," Dietrich offered back as he took a sweep of the perimeter with his weapon. "Besides, you can still drop tangos quickly. Mission killed is what matters."

"You don't care about the suffering?"

"I know some landsknechts are just killers for hire, but my company actually had some fucking standards!" The sniper's outburst was sudden but Fareeha knew exactly why it was. Her mother had just stepped on one of his pet peeves entirely by accident. "So you can take the 'murderous mercenary' pigshit and-"

"Warhammer!" Fareeha interrupted, "She wasn't calling you a sadist. You prefer clean kills, right?"

Both snipers looked towards her, and the softening of her mother's expression into an almost-smile told Fareeha she knew what she had remembered.

"I use an anti-material rifle for the stopping power, Captain," Dietrich answered with a frown, unsure as to her point.

"Then you're fine. Her problem is with the snipers that deliberately draw out friends to kill."

The German mercenary spared one last look towards the elder sniper, then shrugged. "Well, Shrike always left prisoners. If we want more, we send her."

"Or healing," her mother smiled fully now as she pulled one of the golden-yellow filled darts from her belt, then slid it back into its sheath.

The conversation faded out as the younger sniper just looked back down his scope again and Fareeha glanced down as Morrison had dragged the last prisoner back to add to the rest - to be cuffed together against several pipes with what they had, stripped of weapons, commlinks, and helmets. They would be interrogated for information, the only question was whether they would get tactical information like why there were not more troops defending the station or if it would be longer-term information like how they came to be part of this.

Fareeha was not sure which was more worrying. An enemy who did not even really need to disable the Lighthouse network to succeed, or the fact that they had been able to organize a strike like this to try and spark a revolution. Those did not materialize out of the ether, and she knew there was a grocery list of ongoing issues to feed one. Her mother was one of them: vigilante justice sapped the authority of the legal system, no matter how well intended or necessary it was.

"You're aggressive, Fareeha."

_Here we go again,_ the younger captain exhaled, distracted from those thoughts as she looked towards her mother. "We're a kill team: our job is to get in there and take out everything."

"And constantly expose yourself to the enemy - how many of your team were wounded?"

Fareeha scoffed. Yes, the machine gun fire and grenades had been far too close for comfort, but Raptora Armor was tougher than most assumed. Fareeha's armor had ultimately only taken cosmetic damage from shrapnel or grazing hits, while Gamilla and Saleh only needed some small holes filled in their armor that didn't compromise function. Brigitte, though being conservative in her estimate, was able to easily patch them and was helping Saleh fix his jump jets enough that he could at least use them to dodge.

"This isn't the first time I have gone to war, mother."

"No, this is not your first battle," her mother admitted with an exhale. "But how easily could it be your last?"

"The same as any other. I've come to terms with it."

"I never wanted you to."

"No, you did not." Fareeha then inhaled, bracing herself as she knew that she had to get this vented now if her mother was going to keep pressing it even in a warzone. "But I want this life, wherever it leads me. You can't change that."

"Look at me, Fareeha. Look at what his life has done to me."

She looked, watching as her mother lifted the eyepatch to reveal what Widowmaker had done to her. It was not a gaping hole like she had seen in her mind when they told her how her mother had 'died'. Nor was it the swallow scar that Reinhardt had suffered from an Indra unit at Eichenwalde or those Morrison had beneath his mask. The cybernetic eye was wholly gone, surgically removed as the bullet and shrapnel had torn it apart so badly that it was simply necessary to do so.

Even with what she had seen and endured herself, it still caused the younger Amari to swallow uncomfortably, thankful both for her own good fortune so far and more immediately that her visor obscured her upper face. Dietrich seemed even more uncomfortable, doing his best to jam his eye into his scope despite the fact that his helmet prevented that.

"And that is just physically, nothing about the weight on your soul," her mother continued as she let go of the eyepatch to hide the old wound. "If I encouraged you to put yourself through all this, what kind of mother would I be?"

"How about one who can be proud of her daughter's deeds?" Fareeha took a step forward, standing over her mother and looking down at her. "I am not that dreamy little girl anymore."

"You _are_ my little girl, habibti, you always will be."

"Funny, ever since I enlisted you never acted like it."

While that remark may have been years of bitterness packaged into one sarcastic retort, Fareeha still winced before she could catch herself as her brain caught up to her mouth. Why did she have to say that _now_ of all times - especially as her mother stepped back, jaw dropping.

_Good job, now you're the problem too Fareeha,_ a part of her noted bitterly, but her brain was first when an apology was about to come from her mouth. What would that achieve but prove that she was that little girl? All she could do was brace herself for whatever good it did.

Or as it happened, make things worse. Had her mother started the familiar scolding that she had used so many times in Geneva when Fareeha had gotten into trouble, the bracing might have helped. But nothing came. Her mother stayed silent, and turned away back to maintaining overwatch. All that bracing instead became a growing tightness in her stomach that made her even more conscious of the fact that this was happening with rifle and cannon fire echoing in the distance.

She started to reach out, to put a hand on her mother's shoulder, but her awareness of the situation stopped her. What would it prove? Did she even know what her mother was thinking? Maybe she could dare think that - _No, stop right there,_ she told herself as she inhaled to steady herself and schooled her expression back to a neutral wariness of the situation. This was still a warzone.

So she turned her attention to what she had access to now that the Lighthouse was powering back up, as command and control was linked back together. General Nuru and his staff on this AWACS were doing their job as she could see friendly blips linking up nearby to start supporting each other, securing the territory around the Lighthouse itself and one squad was were even on the way to help secure it before the QRF arrived. Most, however, were just too far away for them to be able to sally out and help.

It was the kind of idleness she hated during combat, no matter how important holding a position was. The action was around them, maybe she could help those that needed it or stem how many died, yet she had to stay here.

But as the QRF was making its final approach to the landing zone (Oxton zipping back to the Orca to help guide them in), General Nuru's voice cut in sharply on the priority channel. Fareeha put a hand on the side of her head out of habit from when she was infantry, especially since it was loud enough to cause her to wince.

"All units, this is mission command. Priority update! I repeat, priority update! The GIS has confirmed that these insurgents are sleeper cells aligned with Menoubaroh to weaken our defenses. I repeat, the OPFOR is Menoubaroh." A pause to let the now confirmed news wash over the officers in the priority channel. "General Mohmar's main force is inbound to the city and the vanguard is already in the outskirts, so we need to work fast to mount a defense. Stand by for individual orders."

A chorus of affirmatives over the priority channel, and Fareeha did not have to wait long to receive her own orders.

"Captain, I'm sending you the coordinates to a rally point with the Nekhen sniper unit. I'll brief you when you arrive, just link up with them ASAP."

She saw the coordinates transmitted to her helmet - a location just north of Alexandria's industrial district to the southwest. Her team could probably do it with jump jets, if Saleh's wasn't damaged, but it would be faster by dropship.

"Understood, Thoth. Pharah out." The comm line went silent, and she switched to the squad frequency. "Raptora, Overwatch, regroup at the Orca. Command needs us in a different part of the city. Tracer, how long to prep the engines?"

"We'll be wheels up once everyone's onboard!"

"Good. Let's move!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this and the previous chapter were a single chapter, but the initial takes I wrote did not sit well with me as it had felt too easy - I had only done pushing to the Lighthouse itself and then the argument between Ana and Fareeha afterwards. I ended up adding the reinforcements once I realized it did need more, plus it also provided a great way to better lead into the argument itself.


	5. Very Important Persons

“Nekhen sniper unit? Ana, wasn’t that your old team?”  
  
Fareeha watched as Reinhardt turned to look at her mother after Fareeha had explained where they were going. The Orca was lifting off for the short journey to the new rendevous point, so they had a breather until then.  
  
“It was,” her mother admitted with a smile. “If the comms mention a Horus, that’s the unit commander’s call sign, not me.”  
  
“We’re using Shrike as yours anyway,” Morrison weighed in with a shrug.  
  
“True.”  
  
“Osiris would fit better at this point,” Saleh started before he trailed off, noticing the growing glare from his captain. “Ah… nevermind.”  
  
“You’re timing’s off, Saleh.” Fareeha said as she realized what she was doing and shook her head. Compared to most military humor, it was at least a half-decent allusion. “Speaking of not dead people: Brigitte, how’s your back?”  
  
“The bullets didn’t do more than break skin,” the Swede explained as she put a hand on her backside where she had been shot. “I patched up the armor so it shouldn’t be a problem.”  
  
“Let me know if that changes. What about you, Gamilla? How’s the leg?”  
  
“It’ll be fine, captain,” the American answered as she was doing a check on her rocket hardpoints. “Bit hungry, though.”  
  
Fareeha glanced towards Brigitte, and was not disappointed as the squire was already piping up. “There was a shop selling some really thick pastry near the Lighthouse; don’t know what it is but I want to try it.”  
  
“Sounds like baklava,” Dietrich offered as the sniper was casually holding his (unloaded) sniper rifle as he glanced to the others. “But if you want something good, there’s this great restaurant outside Giza that serves some great mombar. Think sausage, just creamy beef instead.”  
  
“Oh, _now_ you’ve got my attention.”  
  
That was when Tracer weighed in over the intercom - she could also listen to them through it, if she wanted. “There’s ration bars in the lockers, just don’t eat all of them!”  
  
“Why are we suddenly obsessing over food?” Morrison growled, expression masked by his visor, “We still have a mission to complete. This isn’t an hours-long flight.”  
  
“We won’t know until the regulars tell us, sir,” Tariq explained as he shook his head, recalibrating the ESM modules in his suit as they were waiting. “Could be more guard duty, could be another assault.”  
  
“Come on, we know it’s going to be a strike mission,” Dietrich scoffed.  
  
“Which is why you should always recharge if possible. Though there is such a thing as too much plugging in.”  
  
“Yeah, too much power in the-” Tariq stopped as it suddenly hit him what his omnic squadmate was getting at. “Oh very funny Basil.”  
  
“Don’t mind him,” Saleh teased as he nudged the newlywed’s arm, “he’s just jealous.”  
  
“Can omnics even-” Gamilla stopped her question, mouth hanging open. “Nope, I don’t want to know.”  
  
The transport fell silent again on that note of a topic as whatever curiosity they held, no one wanted to discuss it. So they broke down into small talk, reloading the ammo they had expended with the supplies brought along and a few taking the ration bars that Brigitte offered since she had the box open anyways.  
  
“I’m good, thank you,” she waved Brigitte off as the Swede offered a ration bar, busy reloading one of the leg hardpoints. As the squire walked off, though, small talk came differently.  
  
“Need a hand with that?”  
  
Fareeha shook her head. “You might have grabbed Helix ammo, but I’m the rocket queen here.”  
  
Morrison snorted, picking up one of the small warheads from the crate and examining it. The ordnance was specifically inert until the rocket was ignited, making it remarkably safe to handle unless you did something stupid like stick it in a campfire. Once fired was another issue, for obvious reasons.  
  
“Helix stole the pulse rifle tech from Overwatch anyways.” He paused a moment as he noticed her glaring. “What?”  
  
“We both know that they acquired it legally,” Fareeha answered as she shook her head, grabbing another rocket and filling the next slot. “So, you were the one my mother was waiting for.”  
  
A scoff. “If only I was that lucky. No, it’s just like she said: she saw parasites like Hakim, and felt she had to do something.”  
  
“And she only left to keep you out of trouble?” she raised an eyebrow, glancing towards where her mother and Reinhardt were talking - though she had not been paying attention to their actual conversation.  
  
“More or less,” Morrison chuckled, then stopped himself to tackle a more serious topic. “She’s proud of you, you know. Of what you’re doing.”  
  
“You don’t know her as well as you think, do you?”  
  
“She thought she could trust you with protecting Egypt while we hunted Talon.”  
  
That made Fareeha freeze, looking towards her mother again to wonder. If she was willing to say she was proud to someone else, why couldn’t she say it to her daughter’s face?  
  
“This wouldn’t be the first time she hid what she really thought from you,” she finally answered as less pleasant memories bubbled up. “Did you ever notice the weight she carried from those she killed?”  
  
Now it was his turn to be silent, and as Fareeha did one final ammo check on her hardpoints Tracer began to bring the Orca down for a landing. This was a conversation for later, and one she needed to have with her mother too. Just one more drop in an overflowing bucket of family issues.  
  
XXXXXX  
  
The dropship touched down in the northern part of the new industrial district built after the Omnic Crisis, in the parking lot for a set of stores that would normally be switching from cleaning up after breakfast to preparing for the lunch rush. The landing was not a smooth one, mostly because Tracer had to work the angle to get it to touch down around the forward command post that the CSF troops had set up in the middle of the lot.  
  
Unfortunately, Tracer still crushed a civilian car as they landed, with the aircraft tipping to the side as the downward force pushed the car out from under the landing strut. That caused the passengers to strumble, and Reinhardt’s hammer fell, but no one was hurt despite the pilot’s cursing.  
  
“Smooth landing,” Fareeha heard Gamilla comment as she regained her footing with one hand on the wall grips. “You sure she wasn’t Chair Force?”  
  
“Oxton was one of the youngest RAF pilots since the Second World War, so yes,” Morrison remarked, shaking his head. “It shows.”  
  
Reinhardt snorted as he pushed himself to his feet. “Bah, any landing we can walk away from! Come Ana, it’s time to meet your successors!”  
  
Fareeha glanced at the Crusader, then to her mother who gave a wiry smile to her old comrade as the ramp dropped. While Tracer running a rudimentary postflight check, they started to disembark.  
  
Immediately, a woman with a brown recon jacket and a relatively large backpack of both communications and scouting gear ran up to them. A spotter from the Nekhen Sniper Unit: Fareeha recognized the jacket as the same kind that her mother had worn in so many old pictures.  
  
“Captain Amari,” the spotter started, not saluting as this was a warzone.  
  
Despite the fact that the spotter had walked towards Fareeha, it was her mother who answered. “Corporal. What’s the situation?”  
  
“I- uh,” she stumbled momentarily from what she thought was a mistake, “General Nuru and Captain Harun are ready to brief your team on the situation.”  
  
Which meant the plan was already figured out, whoever made it just needed bodies to throw at it. “Does he have room for everyone?” Fareeha asked, needing to fight the instinct to turn and glare at her mother.  
  
“Yes, though I’m not sure about the Crusader.”  
  
“We’ll figure it out, I’ll bring my team over.”  
  
“Ma’am.”  
  
The corporal turned and went back to her captain, leaving Fareeha to look at her mother. Now she could address that issue.  
  
“This is a Helix mission, mother,” Fareeha growled as she hoped to keep this quick and before anyone could pay particular attention to it as Reinhardt and Dietrich were already out of the Orca.  
  
“And I made the rank of Captain before you were born.”  
  
Fareeha was not going to let her mother play _that_ card, no matter how true. “That just means you should know better.”  
  
Glaring at each other as Brigitte stepped onto the ramp, both knew where this was going. A kind of head-to-head that was not for the eyes of strangers, or even friends. And neither wanted to be the one to embarrass whoever lost that confrontation. Whether it was from this, or just not wanting it to play out then, her mother backed down.  
  
“So it is, _Captain Amari_.”  
  
No one, least of all Fareeha, could mistake the bitter tone in her nominal acquiescence. Glancing to her right, Fareeha saw the others had stopped on the ramp to watch. Her squadron trading looks and in Gamilla’s case a shrug, Reinhardt and Morrison’s impassive gazes from their helmet and visor, and Brigitte frowning uncertainty.  
  
She needed to move this on, to get back to the mission. “General Nuru is going to brief us,” she reiterated as she pointed towards the field tent where the sniper captain was waiting, likely talking with the general now. “Remember, we’re working with regulars and conscripts going forward. Don’t flaunt your jets.”  
  
“Of course, Captain,” Saleh said, taking a step forward and speaking up. That got everyone moving, Tracer coming down with her usual boundless energy as she had finished her postflight checks. As they went to the command post, Fareeha took a look around at those present.  
  
The command post itself was rather simple - a small field generator powering the sensor spike that gave Tracer a hard time landing around, and a rapidly deployable tent to protect the more sensitive briefing materials from the weather and stray shots. Not bulletproof, but it would at least mitigate shrapnel, and Fareeha could make out an officer pointing at a holomap in the tent.  
  
The CSF troops themselves were in their full gear, ballistic armor and helmets with face shields (most of which were currently raised to avoid obstructing breathing) - the kind of gear that many would associate with riot police. In fairness, this platoon looked to be one of the CSF’s riot units given the number of shields and truncheons lying about, though at this point they all had carbines. But while exclusively light infantry, they did at least have a few vehicles parked nearby - including an IFV with a mounted gun system that the crew was trying to repair with on-hand material under their commander’s instructions.  
  
Alongside them were the snipers that her squadron would be working with, who had spread out throughout the outpost and a couple were helping with the perimeter. They were very well equipped, including several anti-material rifles and one who had a missile launcher, along with the sophisticated communications gear carried by the spotters. Nothing less would do for units of the Thunderbolt Forces, especially a unit that was primarily assigned to diplomatically sensitive missions. Missions like rescuing members of an embassy staff such as a certain now-former civil servant from Canada.  
  
“Looks like they’re digging in, Captain,” Gamilla remarked as she looked around herself. “Just need some turrets, maybe a field gun or two”  
  
“You Americans and your obsession with firepower,” Dietrich snorted. “Maybe we should retrain you as our heavy weapons expert.”  
  
Fareeha glanced back, smirking at the sniper carrying his anti-material rifle. “Don’t you think she has enough rockets to play with?”  
  
Both of them chuckled, but trailed it off before they entered the field command post. There was nothing wrong with a bit of humor, but often the time to stow it came quickly.  
  
Inside the command post was the sniper captain: an older man with a full black beard if one trimmed close and several scars, including a large one running up from the left side of his neck. Next to him, appearing by a hologram projected from the field projector was General Nuru, still clean shaven save for his moustache as Fareeha remembered back when he was a mere colonel. Both were observing the holosidplay of an industrial complex, alongside a CSF officer - a major with a bandage around his head and two lieutenants - who remained silent as the sniper was pointing to the rooftop of the complex.  
  
“... confirmed that the skylight is not reinforced-” he stopped as the flap was lifted.  
  
“General Nuru, Captain Harun,” Fareeha started, stiffening her posture to stand straight out of habit.  
  
“At ease, Captain,” Nuru smiled briefly as he saw her, holding his arms behind his back. Though now that she saw him in full, even with it being a hologram, she noticed the damage to his uniform. Fareeha suspected it had something to do with why he was in an AWACS. “Let’s get your team in here, then we can start the briefing. I already briefed Captain Harun’s unit. The CSF officer here is Major Khaleed.”  
  
“A pleasure,” the major said, a brief smile before he winced. Likely pain from his wounds.  
  
Bringing in the team took a minute, mostly because of how many of them were wearing power armor of some form with Reinhardt ultimately having to kneel just inside the flaps with the others stepping to the side so he could see. It was a chance for introductions, though most of it was brief with Fareeha listing off her squadmates and letting the Overwatch members, ex or otherwise, introduce themselves.  
  
“It’s an honor to meet you in person, Captain Amari,” Harun said as he dipped his head to her mother. “To think I had given up the thought of it.”  
  
“It happens, Captain. So…” she started, then stopped and looked to Fareeha.  
  
“So?” Harun asked back, frowning.  
  
Fareeha cleared her throat as she realized that her mother had actually made sure to let her take the lead she was supposed to have. “General, you said you had a mission for us?”  
  
“I do,” he answered, giving Harun a nod and the display was adjusted to show several photos, each one highlighted as the names were listed out. “The insurgents are currently holding President Amir, Ministers Kasiya, Ishaq, and Zalika, alongside Representatives Yasim and Amal in the Yasir Industrial Park. Specifically the warehouse here.”  
  
Fareeha looked it over, especially as an office in the center of the building was highlighted. The outer walls peeled away, giving a view of the interior. A space to load and unload shipping containers dominated the ground floor, overlooked by catwalks and smaller offices like the one the hostages were being held in, and roof access at the southeast corner.  
  
“One of Captain Harun’s teams is observing the building and managed to pinpoint the hostages’ location - here, a second floor office. Unfortunately, the insurgents have dug in around the warehouse and turned their disabled vehicles into makeshift defenses.”  
  
The hologram zoomed out and highlighted what he mentioned. Firing positions in and around the perimeter fencing, a stolen but fortunately disabled IFV turned into a makeshift machine gun and grenade launcher turret, and of course the existing security checkpoint now made into a pillbox. And past that was various shipping containers, damaged light vehicles, and miscellaneous cargo moved around to grant additional cover if the perimeter was breached.  
  
“It will take too long to root them out conventionally, particularly while the CSF is stretched thin from the opening strike. We need to get those hostages out, and this is where you come in Captain.”  
  
Fareeha knew what her role was going to be immediately as the general continued.  
  
“The plan is a two-pronged strike, with Overwatch and three squads of CSF attacking on foot while the Nekhen team provides cover. Once they have engaged, the Raptora Squadron will jump jet over the battle and breach the warehouse from above, eliminating all opposition with extreme prejudice, and get them to the roof if possible. A dropship will extract the hostages.” He paused, giving them a moment to digest, before asking, “Any questions?”  
  
“How much time do we have?” Fareeha asked immediately. “They should have tried to evacuate, not hunker down like this.”  
  
“Less than an hour, depending on how long our available units can delay Menoubaroh’s vanguard,” Nuru explained.  
  
Captain Harun kindly expanded the hologram to show the wider battlefield, where Menoubaroh’s main force was pushing in and defense units were trying to slow them down. Most of these units were from the CSF, though a few platoons from the Republican Guard that had been close enough to mobilize before the jamming were mixed in.  
  
The general continued: “As for their attempt to evacuate, Major Khaleed stopped them.”  
  
The major put a hand on his forehead as he explained. “My company ran into them while the jamming was active, and a firefight erupted. We disabled their vehicles, but we couldn’t rescue the hostages. Conscripts don’t do well in irregular situations like that.”  
  
_That’s ass covering,_ she knew immediately. And from how Saleh, Tariq, her mother, Morrison, Tracer, Reinhardt, and Dietrich shifted they all caught it too. Still, that was irrelevant now. Nuru could sort it out in-house later, if there was a later.  
  
Morrison moved the conversation on with a particularly pointed question. “And what’s to stop the OPFOR from executing the hostages?”  
  
“The intel you provided indicated that General Srour wants prisoners, and if they were going to just kill them they would be dead already,” Nuru explained before he put a hand on the table - or at least the one in the AWACS. “But we can’t discount initiative, not with Menoubaroh. This is why I _need_ the Raptora Squadron, even if it’s just to get them between the hostages and the enemy.”  
  
“We’ll do what we can, General.” Fareeha answered, looking directly at his hologram, the sheer danger of the mission lingering in her mind.  
  
“Thank you, Captain.”  
  
With that, they broke down into a few more bits of minutiae like who was in command on the ground (Harun, as he would have a better vantage point and Nuru needed to oversee the larger battle), how they would get there and extract the hostages (hover trucks), and what CSF squads stayed behind to secure the command post as their fallback position. It was a relatively short planning session as most of it had already been figured out, and soon enough they were on the way.  
  
XXXXXXX  
  
“Are you sure you don’t want to sit this one out?”  
  
“Not a chance, Captain. Besides, Brigitte did another tune up.”  
  
Ana glanced over, listening to the exchange between Fareeha and Saleh as they were waiting at the rally point behind a city block that broke line of sight between them and the warehouse.  
  
“Except I barely know your specs,” the squire piped up. “These aren’t the rocket skates papa made.”  
  
It took a moment for her to remember, but once she did Ana felt herself smirking at the happy memory and looked towards her daughter. “I remember how you ran around the base on them, Fareeha.”  
  
Her daughter had started smiling before the remark, but once she heard it Fareeha caught herself and cleared her throat. Ana took it as a cue to drop the matter, particularly given it had ended as an ad-hoc test of safety padding. Still, the remembered joy of her daughter’s excitement left the old sniper smiling even if only just for a moment before the killing resumed. Remembering the (mostly) harmless pratfall that had ended it oddly helped.  
  
But back in reality, they were at the staging ground for the attack, waiting with a city block breaking line of sight between them and the warehouse. Three squads of CSF conscripts, the Overwatch team, and the Raptora Squadron all waiting to disperse for the plan, whether it was Reinhardt leading the attack down the main road to the checkpoint or Oxton and Jack assisting separate teams in clearing the buildings along the way. Both sides knew something was about to happen, and were just waiting for the first shot.  
  
While the nearest parts of the building were empty, closer to the warehouse all bets were off. They would need to be cleared: after all, these insurgents had proven to be good at dispersing. They could not afford to be flanked. The Nekhen snipers were themselves dispersing for the strike, and would head for vantage points further out to flank the warehouse defenders at long range. Which also meant literal knife work to deal with any sentries or pickets - a small taste of frontline combat for those used to killing foes from afar.  
  
_Focus,_ Ana told herself, particularly she saw her daughter grimacing and Captain Harun put a hand to his headset.  
  
“Understood, General,” Harun answered before taking his head off. “Pharah?”  
  
“Raptora, on me! I’ll explain on the way.”  
  
Fareeha took her squad into the block of buildings they had used to break line of sight between their assembly point and the target warehouse. The plan was for them to go high, clearing along the roof if needed rather than the lower floors that Oxton would cover. The rooftops would be their jumping off point to storm the warehouse.  
  
Harun’s briefing - that the Lighthouse network had picked up incoming dropships which meant they couldn’t wait for the snipers to be on-station to attack - barely registered to Ana.  
  
She was watching her daughter disappear into the nearest building, blue armor obscured first by her squadmates falling in behind her, and vanishing up a flight of stairs. She knew the mission, why it was important, and why they had been put into the roles they were by the battleplan. It still left Ana wondering when she would see her daughter again, and how she would.  
  
“Ana?”  
  
Jolted from her thoughts - horribly timed to boot - she turned and was about to reach for her sleep dart loaded sidearm when she realized who had stepped out of the shade. “Reinhardt?”  
  
“Fareeha can take care of herself,” he offered as he looked towards the building.  
  
Exhaling, she knew he was right. There was no chance to change the plan now, not with a now-shortened time limit in the form of overwhelming reinforcements. All she could do was try to support the push as best she could, whether it meant eliminating targets of opportunity or biotic injections to keep the wounded moving until the fight was over. And maybe turn Reinhardt into a battering ram to kick down the door with a well placed combat stim.  
  
_Only if necessary_, she reminded herself. Biotic nano-boosts exhausted their users - Jack had almost collapsed on the street again after they had bagged Hakim - and they had a larger fight ahead of them.  
  
“Go, go go!”  
  
Harun’s order was sudden, the releasing of a compressed spring echoed by the CSF sergeants to their squads, and everyone burst into action.  
  
Reinhardt and Brigitte were in the lead, their barriers the government forces’ vanguard up the open street. One squad followed them, while Jack ran with a second one that began to clear the buildings on their left flank. That left Tracer clearing the right side, the third squad following her. If they made good progress, all three would push forward and attack the checkpoint together with plentiful cover thanks to this dispersion.  
  
Ana, however, was an independent element in this attack. Bluntly put, she was the closest thing to a battle medic they had on-hand as the Nekhen team had lost their biotic rifle in a firefight and the CSF unit lost their medics in the earlier firefight. That meant she had to be ready to respond to any of the three squads that needed help. With two squads inside the neighboring buildings, waiting near the command team in a sniper’s nest was not an option.  
  
Gunfire started up, inside one of the buildings. First a rattle of conventional ballistics, then the distinct burst of a pulse rifle. Jack reported it immediately, “Contact in the left buildings. Clearing now.”  
  
Not even a second later, Reinhardt’s barrier began to light up again as the insurgents were responding. The conscripts fired back past the shield or whatever parked cars and scenery they were using as cover, and the street became a crossfire.  
  
“Hah! We have their attention!” Reinhardt laughed. “Brigitte, keep your shield up!”  
  
“Got it- grenade!”  
  
The squire’s warning was matched by looking up to face the thrown projectile, raising her shield enough that it landed on top. Shrapnel passed overhead, but missed the conscript that was advancing behind her.  
  
“Tracer, contacts thirty meters ahead!” Ana reported immediately as she looked down her scope and saw it - an insurgent who had been lying in wait along with at least two battle buddies.  
  
“Copy that, Shrike!”  
  
Ana took the shot as Oxton acknowledged the warning, a fatal dosage of antibiotics delivered to the forehead. Any dwelling on his lack of a helmet had to wait as Reinhardt’s barrier began to take machine gun fire and more grenades came. The immobilized IFV had a bead on the Crusader and was letting him have it.  
  
“Sergeant Jabr, now!” Harun ordered as he saw the impacts against the barrier.  
  
From his position not too far from where she was, the sergeant unslung the missile launcher supplied to him by the Nekhen team. He moved forward behind Reinhardt’s barrier while Ana reacted to another soldier catching a bullet to the leg on the left side, switching in a biotic dart to get him back up. He would need surgery later, but at least for now he could run.  
  
“Backblast clear!” the sergeant called as he knelt just behind Reinhardt’s right, looking back to check himself before he fired the borrowed missile launcher.  
  
Or would have, if a grenade had not gone over Reinhardt’s shield and exploded right behind the sergeant. His right leg vanished as he collapsed on that side, shrapnel tearing into his body armor or less armored neck as he collapsed.  
  
“_Schiesse_!” Reinhardt cursed as the fragments slammed into his armor. “I can’t hold this off forever!”  
  
“The sergeant’s down!” one of the CSF soldiers warned before she caught a bullet in the chest. Body armor stopped it from being fatal, and so a biotic dart could at least stabilize her.  
  
“That was our only launcher!” Reinhardt called out as the weapon had broken in half from the blast. “New plan - I use my hammer!”  
  
“What?!” Brigitte demanded, turning her head as bullets continued to come down the street like they were being funneled. “We’re too far out!”  
  
“Get another fifty meters!” Ana ordered as she turned and saw a soldier near Tracer take a bullet - no, through the head. He was gone. “I will stim Reinhardt for the rest!”  
  
“Nano-boosts?” Reinhardt’s barrier took another hit, the energy barrier showing the cracks that warned it was failing. “_Barrier failing! Cover!”_  
  
He had given the latter bit in Arabic for the sake of the conscripts - he made it a habit to learn at least a few basic phrases or commands in local languages for that reason - but Ana had to supply the rest.  
  
“His shield is breaking, get to cover! He has to lower it!”  
  
“Yes ma’am!”  
“Are you seriou- fine! Shoddy piece of…”  
“You gotta be kidding me - _ow_ motherf-”  
  
Despite the complaints (and a shrapnel injury that Ana promptly darted), they took the cue to spread out from Reinhardt’s shield. They were covered as the Nekhen snipers had gotten into position. The commandos’ rounds tore into the insurgents that had left their flanks exposed facing the seemingly greatest threat, including anti-material rounds into the IFV’s turret. That got the gunner’s attention, the heavy machine gun sweeping away from the main avenue as it tried to suppress the now seemingly greatest threat.  
  
Reinhardt powered down his shield, giving it a chance to recharge as his armor could handle the lesser small arms fire, though he made a point to try and stay moving to minimize how many bullets it took. Ana kept an eye on him - his armor was worn down from constant campaigning and battle wear. The fact it was still functional spoke of how worthy Brigitte was of her father’s legacy.  
  
“Reinhardt, push ahead - we go with your plan. Horus to flanks, report.”  
  
“Halim to Horus, steady progress b-!” His report was cut off instantly with a blooded rattle, and as Ana whirled around to the left side she saw the collapsing sergeant, now missing most of his face courtesy of a shotgun. With that kind of head trauma, even Angela would not be able to do anything for him.  
  
“Seventy-Six here,” Jack’s voice growled over, “Taking command of the left.” A report punctuated by the sound of his pulse rifles. “Steady progress but at half strength.”  
  
“Understood. Sergeant Leyla?”  
  
An explosion from one of Tracer’s pulse bombs preceded the other report. “Thirty meters to the waypoint, need that IFV dead!”  
  
“Understood. Reinhardt, storm the position. Raptora, stand by!”  
  
Ana felt a pit in her stomach - inevitability finally coming. They were going in, and the IFV was still active. If they tried to cross the gap before it went down...  
  
Switching the ammunition and pulling a glowing blue dart from the special satchel she kept it in, she knew what was needed. “Reinhardt, nano-boost!”  
  
“Ja, do it!”  
  
The dart was a little large for the barrel, but it was still within tolerance and fit the rifling. Taking a knee behind a palm tree decorating the side of the road, Ana shut out everything. What her daughter was about to do, angry shouts at the enemy, warnings about an RPG that Brigitte had to leap away from (dragging a conscript behind her as the explosive detonated), Jack reporting they were in position, even her own breath as she held it in to steady the weapon. She had to make this shot for Reinhardt’s sake - a direct hit to the neck for safe administration of the biotic nanites.  
  
Lining up the reticle with the thinner part of his armor, the Crusader had stood still and put his still weakened shield back up. It gave her the time she needed, she just had to pull the trigger.  
  
And just like that, the Crusader started to glow as the nanites flowed through his body, smartly recognizing the joints that led to his armor and enhancing the power there as well. It did nothing for the durability even as it would dampen any pain Reinhardt felt, but that just encouraged him.  
  
“Are you ready? _Here I come_!” With that hearty laugh, the Crusader launched forward, the rockets on his back and boots blazing to life and leaving a scorched trail on the road behind him.  
  
“Raptora, go!”  
  
Any satisfaction from what Reinhardt was about to do was left wanting as Ana knew what was coming next. All she had was a moment to hope for her daughter’s safety as she saw the flash of activating jump jets, then it was back to the fight.  
  
XXXXXX  
  
“Raptora, go!”  
  
Fareeha was more than ready. “Acknowledged, Horus. Squad, clear that gap!”  
  
They immediately ran to the end of the roof as gunfire echoed and continued. Leaping over and igniting their jump jets, Fareeha had a bird’s eye view of the ongoing firefight as they crossed over, augmented by combat telemetry in the HUD.  
  
The CSF squads had taken a beating in the buildings, a bloodbath that put both squads down to half strength - and that was with Tracer and Jack’s help! The outside had fewer casualties, though part of that was because of easy access to biotics for the wounded and Reinhardt’s shield.  
  
And speaking of the Crusader, he was rocketting ahead, launching himself towards the IFV. The crew was frantically trying to turn it back around as Reinhardt leapt into the air, weapon overhead.  
  
“Hammer_ down_!”  
  
Even knowing just how powerful it was and trying to focus on the mission, Fareeha still winced as she heard the crash of the hammer crushing the roof of the IFV. As she heard the shockwave. As she saw the back hatch blown off and bounce against the pavement. As she caught a glimpse of what was once a man splattering out.  
  
“He just-”  
“Khalil, Khalil can you hear me?!”  
“Regroup - secondary positions, _secondary positions_!”  
“I didn’t sign up for this!”  
“Stay away from that hammer!”  
“I don’t wanna die I don’t wanna die _I don’t wanna die_!”  
  
The insurgents were suitably terrified, some outright routing as Reinhardt turned his attention towards the checkpoint-turned-pillbox. But any possible satisfaction from a family friend’s handiwork had to wait.  
  
“What the- losing pressure! I’m going down!”  
  
Fareeha turned her head as much as she could while hurtling forward and saw it: Saleh’s jump jet had not been able to sustain the longer burst they needed. Brigitte’s repairs had only bought him most of the way over, the jets still puffing trying to keep him up as his altitude was dipping ever more rapidly.  
  
Whirling around and dropping her own altitude to avoid getting in the way of those behind her, Fareeha had a shot on a half squad who had seen it and were calling out the falling Raptora. A rocket into their position scattered them, and some of the insurgents had panicked and were running for it, but others were still firing and saw Saleh as a target of opportunity.  
  
“We’re losing a Raptora - snipers, cover him! Marking targets. Everyone else, push the gate!”  
  
Harun was on top of the situation, continuing to radio targets to his squad to pinpoint targets. The sniper fire shifted in turn as Saleh landed. Fareeha even saw the targeting marks show up in her HUD as his spotter was electronically marking targets too.  
  
“Ghulam, status?”  
  
“Jets offline! Keep going!”  
  
His answer was short as he was running and gunning towards a half-open container, but Fareeha could do little more to help him without jeopardizing the mission. Especially as she had to boost up before she hit the warehouse herself - one man down was bad enough! The others had landed on the roof, all of them turning to open fire. Drawing attention to themselves by their position on the flank.  
  
It was a noble intention to protect their squadmate, and they could easily shatter what remained of the insurgent frontline. But as a commander, it fell on Fareeha to pull them from it to focus on other enemies.  
  
“Cease fire!” She ordered, grabbing Gamilla by the shoulder. “Focus on the mission!”  
  
“But-”  
  
“He has cover,” she interrupted before Gamilla could formulate a full answer. “We have a mission. Follow me!”  
  
The others stopped firing, though Fareeha still looked towards Saleh as he reached cover. Or at least, cover for now. He would do what he could from his position - not that he had much of a choice. It was fight or die - the enemy couldn’t accept a surrender no matter how much they wanted to while Reinhardt was tearing through them. The man had help from others, the mission needed the rest of the squadron.  
  
“Gizmo, mark targets. Akkad, set the charge!”  
  
“Affirmative, stand by!” the omnic warned, slapping the charge onto the skylight roof while more targets appeared in Fareeha’s HUD. The electronics in Tariq’s suit trying to identify the nearest human heartbeats - targets trying to prepare to be stormed from above and retreating from the collapsing frontline.  
  
Like breaching a door, they would be confined by a single chokepoint. Unlike breaching a door, the enemy would have a full three-sixty degrees worth of opportunities to target them. That meant they had to breach the same way, taking positions around the skylight so they could suppress targets on each angle before jumping in.  
  
Stacked up and as one insurgent was already trying to shoot up, bullets catching against the glass, Fareeha gave the signal. “Go!”  
  
The detonation vaporized the skylight, melting the glass down to its component silica and what wasn’t melted down became a deadly hail to anything directly below. Bad as that was, the real payload came next: they had all picked a target and opened fire. Rockets (wrist launched or otherwise), pulse rifle rounds, and in Basil’s case a cluster flashbang at the landing zone itself that burst into submunitions before detonating.  
  
“All in!”  
  
Basil was in first, their vanguard into the quick, brutal, and remorseless business of breaching. Anyone not stunned by the exploding charge was stunned by the flashbang and initial salvo. A few precious moments to get inside. A few precious moments to take down targets without casualties. No mercy, no chance to surrender, just drilled us-versus-them.  
  
Just as practiced in their drills, each member of the Raptora Squadron covered their angle on the way down. Basil was in first facing west, forward, while Gamilla had the east as she dropped down facing the main firefight. Fareeha had the south, while Saleh would have had the north. Though Tariq jumped in and covered his angle, it still meant fewer shots in the first salvo. The shock and flashbangs were wearing off.  
  
Landing on both feet, spared broken legs by suit-internal shock absorbers, Fareeha took an available shot at the catwalk. Four insurgents, all hit, one flying over a railing while the others collapsed. Less guards between them and the hostages - they just had to get into the barricaded office above to the south. Other insurgents were on the northern wall, firing at them. They were in a kill-box. Orders were needed.  
  
“Akkad, Gizmo, on me! Warhammer, Corva, cover!”  
  
Orders given and affirmative answers over return fire, the squad split. Fareeha led two up the catwalk, the other two would hold the flank.  
  
Charging up, an insurgent - a survivor of Fareeha’s attack - raised a pistol only to be eviscerated. A shotgun burst from the omnic at her left.  
  
“Stay seated!” Basil taunted, heuristic triggered as the man fell.  
  
Another breach ahead. “Stack up!” Fareeha ordered, taking a position on the far side to open the door for them. Her launcher was too imprecise for this breach. Basil would be first in, followed by Tariq.  
  
The tech specialist updated his suit telemetry. “Seven heartbeats, gunman on the left facing us, no traps.” He pointed the middle out so both could see.  
  
“Affirmative.”  
  
Fareeha nodded, reaching out and opening the door. It was more or less kicked out of her hand as Basil threw his weight through the door, and a shotgun burst killed the gunman. Basil was shot in turn, but his armor and outer chassis had resisted the low caliber burst despite the close range.  
  
“Room clear!” she called once she saw that it was - a gunman blown against the wall, and six hostages tied up on the floor and coughing. “Horus, this is Pharah. Hostages recovered, enemy active. Repeat: hostages recovered, enemy still active!”  
  
“Horus copies. Hold position, they’re about to break!”  
  
While part of Fareeha wanted to just get the hostages out, especially given the time limit they were on, it was better to keep them inside for now. The office had been barricaded, and so would offer protection as long as they stopped the insurgents from breaching inside. She just needed to position her squad.  
  
“Akkad, keep the catwalk clear! Gizmo, overwatch!”  
  
“Roger,” the omnic acknowledged and was out of the office, Tariq taking up a position at the office door as Fareeha dealt with the hostages.  
  
She knelt next to the most important of them, a man she recognized immediately. President Amir, Egypt’s national leader at the moment. He was not a large man, unassuming and his dark brown beard trimmed quite close. He looked as soft as many accused him of being, especially with his business suit torn and a rag of a bandage around his upper leg.  
  
“President Amir, are you alright?” Fareeha asked.  
  
“I… yes, yes I am,” he started. “Ishaq, though-”  
  
“I can walk,” the Minister of Health and Population said, looking at his wrist which seemed to be twisted just a bit too far...  
  
“We’ll carry you if we have to,” Fareeha answered as she glanced at the others. No one else had any obviously incapacitating injuries. “Warhammer, situation?”  
  
“Still got some opposition!” he warned before a burst of gunfire led to him grunting loudly and a lifesign alert went off in Fareeha’s HUD. “Fuck! That hurt!”  
  
“Stay down, I’ll get them!” Gamilla warned, her jump jets igniting as she launched into the air. Fareeha glanced at the hostages, then to Tariq who leaned back as several rounds landed near him.  
  
“Gizmo, hostages!”  
  
The tech specialist fired off a burst to suppress his target, then dropped back as Fareeha moved forward. He would protect them, and she would make the remaining insurgents have to get through her to get that far.  
  
Able to see properly from her doorway vantage point, she saw that Dietrich had been shot but had managed to pull himself into cover. Going by how he was sitting, he had been clipped in the leg. Gamilla was overhead, raining pulse rifle bursts and a swarm of microrockets from above into a group of insurgents trying to regain the initiative. Basil was by the ladder up, trying to get a shot as-  
  
Ricochets off the door frame caused Fareeha’s heart to skip a beat as she saw the source, aimed on instinct, and fired. A rocket hurtled towards the insurgent Basil was firing at, and while she managed to get far enough away to avoid being smeared against the wall, it left her open to Basil’s shotgun.  
  
Fareeha did not think to glance down at any possible injury - if it wasn’t an armor-penetrating hit, it didn’t matter right now. Instead she traded a shot with the gunners trying to engage Gamilla, suppressing them further as now they had explosive ordnance hurled their way. Ordnance that blew holes into the truck container they had used for cover, and forced them down.  
  
“Fall back! Full retreat, to the rally point!”  
  
The shouted orders came from a man that burst through a door next to the main garage door for the warehouse, a fire strike exploding against the door behind him as he had barely got out of the way. That was the insurgents’ unit captain, ceding the fight.  
  
Fareeha didn’t have a good shot on him, but Gamilla did as she turned her attention towards him and opened up the rocket hardpoints. It was overkill, but she only needed a single salvo rather than the torrents they had used earlier against the stolen IFVs. The horrified reactions from the insurgents told Fareeha how successful she was.  
  
“Tahir!”  
“Shit! Not him too-” dead by headshot from Dietrich.  
“Dear God, no!”  
  
One of the insurgents, however, kept his cool and ran to Fareeha’s left, out of her line of fire. Gamilla was getting mobile again, but her attention was on the panicked enemies rather than a rifle grenade being launched out of her line of sight.  
  
“Corva, watch your left!” Basil warned, but too late as an explosion went off in mid air as the garage door was coming down.  
  
The lifesign alert on Fareeha’s HUD lit up as Gamilla screamed, propelled into a wall and hitting it with a slam. Her jets gave out as she slid down onto the catwalk on the far side.  
  
“Basil, get to her!” Fareeha ordered immediately, leaning out further so she could better take a shot as the garage door came down.  
  
The fight ended seconds after. Reinhardt smashed through the large sliding door for trucks, and following the walking tank was Brigitte, Tracer, Jack, and her mother. The remaining insurgents booked it out the doors on the far side as Overwatch joining in had been the last straw. They were routing deeper into the industrial district, thinned by sniper fire as they left the warehouse, but that just kept them running.  
  
Past the Raptora Squadron’s relief and outside the warehouse, Fareeha saw Saleh making his way at pace to join them while the remaining conscripts were securing the perimeter. Gunfire began to die down, especially as the routing enemies broke line of sight, leaving a stillness over the area despite the echoes of the larger battle.  
  
But with the quieting of the nearest guns, the cries of the wounded could be heard. Fareeha moved a little further out onto the catwalk, getting a better look at what was going on. She saw that Gamilla had landed on the catwalk above the now-broken door, and Basil was taking a knee next to her examining the injury.  
  
“Captain, Corva is alive but needs immediate medical attention!” the omnic reported. “She is in shock. Wait, her vitals are-”  
  
“_Christ! _I’ve lost half my arm!”  
  
Gamilla’s sudden outburst of lucidity briefly deafened Fareeha and anyone else on the squadron frequency, though she still heard a couple others (including Tariq) who heard the outburst near-instinctively mutter “peace be upon him” in response to which prophet had just been invoked.  
  
Fareeha held that instinct down though, focusing on the living, her eyes falling towards her mother. “Warhammer?”  
  
“I’m fine, help Corva!”  
  
“Hold on, I’m coming!”  
  
For once this day, Fareeha was glad for her mother to not even wait before rushing in to fix things. She tossed one biotic dart to Warhammer, letting the conscious German treat his own injury, while heading up the catwalk to personally treat the more severe injury.  
  
“She’s over there, on the catwalk near the ladder.” Fareeha pointed her mother in the correct direction and led her over. Tariq had the hostages secure, the Overwatch team were spreading through the warehouse (minus Tracer who zipped back the way they came) - she had a moment to see to her squad.  
  
As the outburst had indicated, everything from just above Gamilla’s left shoulder to her hand was gone. Her torso was red, though most of it seemed to be from the lost limb. Even so, her armor was covered in pocket marks from shrapnel both of the explosive and bits of her armor sticking into other components. Basil was attempting to treat her injury, though lacking medical tools himself the omnic was resorting to a makeshift tourniquet made out of a dead insurgent’s headscarf.  
  
“This is insufficient treatment, but it will have to do,” the omnic was saying, trying to reassure his squadmate.  
  
Gamilla was just staring though, looking at the off-white and quickly reddening bandage where once she would have been looking at her elbow.  
  
“It’s going to hurt, Gamilla,” Fareeha interjected as she took a knee while her mother grabbed a dart from her belt pouch, “but you’ll get through it. We’ll get you out of here, you got that?”  
  
“I… yes, captain, I…”  
  
“Shhhh,” Fareeha heard her mother start as she took a knee, “Just relax, this will stabilize you.”  
  
Gamilla didn’t tear her eyes away from her stump of an arm even as the dart’s contents were injected by hand into her collarbone.  
  
“I’ve got this, _habibti_,” her mother said as she looked up. “Go help the president.”  
  
Fareeha was about to retort, but her mother actually had a point this time. Gamilla was being treated, and they were on a timer unless they wanted to die fighting overwhelming odds. “Alright. She’s your responsibility, Basil. Understood?”  
  
“Yes, Captain.”  
  
Turning away, Fareeha keyed her comms. She had to give a situation report. “Horus, Pharah. SITREP: Hostages secure, enemy has withdrawn from the warehouse. We need that extraction, _now_.”  
  
“Already en route, callsign Roc-4. We’ll do the pickup at the front of the warehouse. Injuries?”  
  
“I need to medevac at least one of my squad.”  
  
“Understood, we’re bringing the trucks over.” An order that was punctuated by a grunt. Harun must have dismounted from his command post and hit the ground after sliding down a ladder.  
  
“Acknowledged, Pharah out.” She adjusted her comms, glancing around to see where her team was.  
  
Saleh was on the ground helping Warhammer, who was getting back onto his feet with the bullets removed and injection applied. Tariq was still with the VIPs, keeping his head on a swivel and the electronic hardpoints of his suit scanning. On the warehouse floor, Reinhardt, Brigitte, and Morrison had spread out to make sure no one was hiding in wait.  
  
A few quick orders later, Fareeha had them ready to move the hostages to the ground floor, just inside so that they could get on board the transport as soon as possible when it arrived to minimize exposure time. Unlike some politicians that Fareeha had the displeasure of rescuing during her time in the Egyptian Army, they were far more cooperative. Shaken, to be sure, but they were willing to move rather than insisting on only moving when they would escape.  
  
And they had the wits to consider the bigger picture, too.  
  
“Who is in command? Is General Nuru in charge, or one of his colonels?”  
  
“General Nuru, Mister President,” Fareeha answered. “There’s no time to explain, Menoubaroh’s forces are closing in rapidly.”  
  
“How close?”  
  
“Close enough we launched an all-out assault.”  
  
“How many died?”  
  
A part of Fareeha wondered if the question had something to do with the fact that as they stepped onto the ground floor, he saw what was left of Gamilla’s left hand bloody on the floor.  
  
“Not sure,” Fareeha answered, “but at least a whole squad.”  
  
The president exhaled, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “What a waste.”  
  
“This isn’t your fault, Amir,” Ishaq noted as he winced - sympathy of the hand or just his own wrist being twisted, “What kind of man would do this and call himself righteous?”  
  
“One who genuinely believes in his cause,” another of the ministers offered, wincing as she saw just how widespread the carnage was. “But to want this…”  
  
Fareeha heard the sound of engines in the distance, followed by the pilot speaking up in the comms.  
  
“Horus, Roc-4. Inbound for a pickup, confirm readiness.”  
  
“Horus copies. Pharah, hostages ready?”  
  
“Affirmative, Horus,” Fareeha answered as she glanced towards them. “Just bring in the transport, we’ll get them onboard.”  
  
“Roger that. ETA is sixty seconds.” A pause, then the woman continued. “Also, we’ve got Menoubaroh dropships on scanners - from bearing one-eight-seven, ETA four minutes.”  
  
“Understood, thanks for the heads up.”  
  
“No problem.”  
  
Transferring the VIPs to the dropship was a quick matter, particularly once they were told just how close their kidnappers’ reinforcements were. Both the Raptora Squadron (minus Basil and Gamilla) and the Overwatch team (minus her mother and Tracer) provided, well, overwatch for the hostages as the transport landed. It lowered its cargo ramp as it did, four commandos waiting on board to bring the hostages on board. They wasted no time hurrying them on, and the dropship took off for the northeast at full speed once all were aboard.  
  
Now it was time for their escape, a frantic burst of activity as two of their trucks had arrived at the warehouse, while Tracer had parked the third on the road and was rushing to grab the wounded who couldn’t move.  
  
“Affirmative, go for the tertiary extraction point. Soon as these men are dropped off I’m taking a truck and heading your way.” Harun talking to his squad by comms as he sat in the driver’s seat of a rapidly-filling truck.  
  
“Hey, this one looks important!” a conscript called out, pointing to a wounded insurgent in a corner who had a comm pack.  
  
“Forget prisoners!” the last CSF sergeant answered, “We are _leaving_!”  
  
“Saleh, take Gamilla and get on a truck! Raptora, on me! We’re covering the retreat.” They were the ones most able to disengage quickly, after all. “Reinhardt?”  
  
“Ja! I’ll be on the ground!”  
  
“You just got nano-boosted, are you-”  
  
“Get on the truck, kid!” Morrison interrupted as Brigitte tried to protest, “This is no victory march!”  
  
“Go, I’ll be fine!”  
  
Conceding to her mentor, the squire climbed aboard as one of the last ones on a truck. Seconds later, they were driving away lighter for the corpses left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Given it has been a while since this was updated, and the Valkyrie short story that released in the meantime, I want to take a moment to address that.  
This story was conceptualized and broadly plotted out long before Zero Hour, let alone Valkyrie, and the latter means I can't fit this into the canon. So, going forward, I'm writing this as if anything from Zero Hour (in terms of release dates) never happened simply because otherwise I am going to have to constantly rewrite as we get more info for Overwatch 2. If a detail does not line up from information revealed then, that is why.  
All that being said, I am going to include a few aspects from the new information that I feel fit the story whether directly or as dramatic irony, as there are definitely aspects that I do think would fit.


	6. Eye of the Storm

“Horus, Pharah. Enemy did not engage, making our way back.”

“Really?” She could hear the surprise in Harun’s voice. “Where did the dropships go?”

“Deeper into the industrial district,” Fareeha explained as she and her squadron had started to leave the warehouse battlefield. “Will your team be okay?”

“For now, they’re heading the other way. Speaking of that, we need to sort out the trucks. I am sending a nav point.”

“Make sure Reinhardt gets it too, Captain,” she answered as she glanced down to where the old man was about to start gliding across the street with his armor’s own rockets.

“As long as Lighthouse Tau doesn’t jam it… coordinates sent. Received?”

They did, a marker appearing to highlight a glass maker’s workshop. “Affirmative, Horus. Raptora, Reinhardt, we’re heading to a rally point.”

“Ja! It came through!”

“We’re on the same comm line, not so loud!” Dietrich growled back before he caught himself. “Waypoint received, captain.”

Tariq and Basil acknowledged it as well, and they changed course.

The flight back was mostly quiet, particularly as the distant explosions and gunfire had died down. The first phase of the battle was over, both sides slowing their tempo to stop and lick their wounds while reinforcements were deployed. The CSF and the insurgents had both played out most of their strength in the city, and were now just holding the positions they had taken. Lighthouse stations, government buildings, bridges, highway junctions, VIPs - everything that Egyptian blood had been spilled over in the past two hours.

Fareeha kept her ears on that, in part. After all, this was where a small elite unit like Raptora could have a big effect. Hit targets in the lull, keep the enemy off balance, pave the way for the regulars. But as she listened to the command channel, she also heard Harun reporting to Major Khaleed. Losses heavy enough that Fareeha winced as the sniper captain finished. And of course her own squadron was not at full strength either.

No, none of them died, but the silence they flew in was a shroud all the same. No one really wanted to broach the obvious topic until they had more news on what their squadmate - their friend - would need.

Angela could make her prosthetics, she briefly considered. She had the expertise and knew the pitfalls to avoid for quality of life...

No, that was a fool’s hope. With access to Helix facilities Angela could easily do it, but she had made it clear: she was not interested in working for Helix, especially to help them hurl soldiers into battle. She would do her part as a doctor in a crisis, but if Helix used clinic supplies they were getting a bill.

“A global PMC can afford it, after all,” Angela had dryly remarked as they had enjoyed some evening tea after a long day.

I bet mom wishes I helped the aid camps full time. A bitter thought as she watched for any signs of activity on the rooftops they flew over . It was not really something she had wanted to be thinking of right now, but now that her thoughts had strayed to it they refused to let go.

Her mother had come back, and in the flesh after so many years and only a single letter that didn’t even try to reassure her. It was going to take time to come to terms, especially with arguments still unsettled. The consideration that she should be thankful for even having the chance to do so only made the lingering thoughts worse.

Though as the now-parked convoy came into view, Fareeha tried to shove it aside. To focus on something else, like the fact that the convoy was unloading and loading at the parking lot they stopped in.

As the navpoint had said, they were at a glass maker's shop, or rather the parking lot in front of it. The shop looked intact without any breaks in the windows or signs that there had been a battle here - yet. She could make out the owner at the door, glaring through the window. Just suspicious of a bunch of soldiers in trucks showing up on his doorstep, or was he staring at the new arrivals so intently for a reason?

“Pharah!” Harun called as she landed near Tracer, drawing her gaze to him between the bustling. The conscripts were transferring the wounded off of one truck specifically, while the Overwatch team was on the perimeter keeping security.

“Yes?”

“Fuel check. Do you need to resupply, or are you good for another engagement?”

“As long as we don’t try to fly around the whole city, we should be fine.”

“Good, we need to pick up my team.”

Fareeha frowned. “I thought you said they were okay?”

“Short term. Menoubaroh may start hunting them, and I want Raptora flying top cover on extraction.”

Okay, that’s a reasonable request, except… “And the wounded?”

“I’m running medevac out of my Orca,” Lena piped in quickly as she glanced over.

That made sense, which left one more question for Fareeha. “And who are we leaving in command? Ghulam?”

“Naturally,” the Nekhen captain continued. “Though I suppose your mother has a certain seniority…”

That caused her to grit her teeth. This really was not the place for that kind of nonsense. “No, I’ll leave him in charge.” She turned to her squadmates, particularly as Reinhardt was almost back as well. “You three take up overwatch for now.”

The three acknowledged their orders and went out to carry them, leaving her to turn back to Harun.

“Do you have a plan, or is this just driving over for a pickup?”

“It should be the latter,” he shrugged as Reinhardt’s rockets cut out and he stumbled the last dozen meters, causing both captains to stop and turn just in case he might run into them. Fareeha felt herself frowning as she saw him bend over as the last of the momentum had bled out, hammer resting against the pavement a few meters from them.

Catching his breath, Reinhardt stood back to his full height and put a hand on his back. “I’m fine! Nothing to worry about!”

Fareeha knew better though - Reinhardt still had it, but his age was rapidly catching up to him, as was Brigitte having to repair his armor in the field all the time. “Just take it easy and let Brigitte check your gear.”

“Ah, you sound like your mother: always worrying!” He chuckled, hefting his hammer up onto his shoulder. “But as you command, Captain Amari!” He was still chuckling as he walked over to his squire, and Fareeha was certain he was smiling beneath his helmet.

And in another context, she would have too. But as it was, it just reminded her of the ongoing issue, one that she was not going to be able to avoid for much longer.

“Once we get your squad back, do you have any plans?” she asked, turning her attention back to the sniper.

“Stand by for our next orders, same as you.”

She shook her head. “We have Overwatch, Raptora, your team, and a whole list of possible targets. How many lives can we save if we act?”

“I like your courage, but remember the mission,” the sniper warned, expression hardening. “General Nuru may need you in a hurry.”

Translation: do not take the initiative unless told to, better to wait for a deployment order and then fully commit to it. A sentiment that still permeated the junior ranks of the Egyptian Army’s officer corps, one that Fareeha had reiterated to her time and again by colleagues and superiors alike in the army. And it was not always as half-complimentary as Harun was trying to be.

“This mission is complete, but Alexandria is still in danger,” Fareeha answered instead. “If you want to withdraw the Nekhen team, your call. I want to see what we can do here before I withdraw Raptora.”

A glance towards the trucks, then Harun shrugged his shoulders. “Very well, Captain. We should be ready to go in a minute.”

Once the two parted ways, Fareeha made her way to the truck where Saleh was standing at the edge of. She caught a glimpse of her mother and Morrison a bit further past, minding the perimeter, but she ignored them for now. She wanted to check in on her squadmate.

Saleh was outside the truck, and warned her that Gamilla was slipping in and out. Not a loss of consciousness, so much as awareness. Some of it was blood loss, but he suspected most of it was shock and adrenaline. By the time he finished explaining, she had cycled back to lucidity.

“I knew I should have kept moving… such a stupid…”

“We all make mistakes,” Fareeha answered as she put on a smile to try and reassure her.

“Yeah, but yours get medals. I just lost an arm…” Gamilla turned her head towards her where her arm should have been. Her helmet had been removed and left at her feet, showing just how caked in sweat her hair was, but it was still tied up, for now.

“Cybernetics are a lot better than they used to be, we’ll get you a new one.”

“Yeah, well…” suddenly, the Private smiled herself, that toothy smile when something dumb yet funny clicked. “You see that Swiss doc a lot, don’t you?”

Fareeha scoffed - so Gamilla had picked up on that joke from the previous iteration of the Raptora Squadron. “We’re just friends. Besides, I think her tastes are more cybernetic.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what the ninja thinks about women in armor… but, hey, if she’s in the area…”

Don’t enable her don’t- “I can ask,” she said before she caught herself, briefly wincing. “No promises.”

“Worth a shot.”

Fareeha’s commlink suddenly buzzed. It was Harun, and it was time to get going.

“Copy that, Horus.” She turned back to her wounded squadmate. “Just sit tight, Gamilla. Tracer will have you to a doctor in no time.”

“Yeah… I walk away while you jump in…” Gamilla leaned back, her expression blanking. Fareeha had seen it before - she was losing her awareness again. Exhaustion, reminders of how injured she was… at least she was awake and still breathing steadily.

And Fareeha had to put it aside - picking up the rest of the Nekhen team should be routine, but now that Menoubaroh’s main force was in the city anything was possible. One truck and four mercenaries left the parking lot one way, the other two trucks went the other.

* * *

Before she shipped off to officer’s training, her father had told her to look to the aftermath of a mission. If an officer paid attention, it could speak volumes about the condition of their unit. A glimpse into the minds of the soldiers, of how they were doing. A chance to inform herself on who she was leading.

“Always use a pause to get your team together, habibti,” words that Ana still heard in her old age. And words that she still found herself trying to apply even as any rank she held was honorary at best, her eyes falling on the two conscripts that were on the truck with them.

They were the first truck in the convoy, carrying the Overwatch hangers-on, Saleh, Gamilla, and a pair of conscripts who were quite conscious of who they were sharing a truck with. The two young men, not even out of their teens, stayed to themselves as they kept sparing furtive glances towards the heroes they were among. Ana knew how awkward that could be: on the one hand, it was a chance to meet their heroes.

On the other…

“Hey, you two okay?”

“Huh?”

“She is asking if you are okay, Private,” Saleh supplied as he turned his head to the taller of the two.

“Oh. She realizes we don’t speak Swedish, right?”

Brigitte shifted uncomfortably in her seat, saying nothing as she looked away.

“Babel Implants, Jamal,” the second conscript explained as he folded his arms. “The fancy toys of the rich and elite.”

Jamal simply exhaled, “Figures. International future, still can’t get them handed out like braces.”

“She can still understand you,” Ana warned as she saw Brigitte starting to fidget. “Besides, these two were standing between you and a platoon’s worth of gunfire.”

“Yes, Captain,” the second conscript remarked, shifting in his seat and saying no more.

The truck fell silent, Brigitte glancing at the conscripts a few times with a clear frown. Ana let her eye linger on the young Swede, curious as to how she would carry herself. Torbjorn had a habit of just not caring and continuing to talk shop - usually with Reinhardt about armor repairs or Gabriel on any mission-specific equipment.

Still, the disparity of who had implants just represented another of Overwatch’s failures in its intervention in Egypt. Babel Implants were small cybernetics - only a little more intrusive than the eye augmentations that Ana once had, but entirely beneath the skin post-surgery. Overwatch agents usually joked about how it let them change reality’s language settings or called it a dub for reality - with all the desync between sound and lip movement that goes with it.

While they were common in regions recovered from the Omnic Crisis like England or Japan, in much of Egypt there were as out of reach as the constantly misappropriated medicine. Removing one side of the language barrier with foreigners instead only reinforced it, and became a stark reminder. A reminder that while they would pray five times a day for none of their loved ones to fall ill, Korea could have kid divas live streaming combat missions for clicks and giggles. And if you threw in a connection to Overwatch - direct or (perhaps especially) familial - the wrong conclusions were quickly drawn.

“Captain Amari,” Brigitte started as she noticed the stare fixed onto her. “You said General Mohmar left because he disagreed with the government in Alexandria.”

“They were still in Cairo at the end of the Crisis,” Ana answered, frowning as she was not sure where this was going. “Though he was not particularly happy with President Nourane’s vision for a post-Crisis Egypt either.”

“Right, but that was almost twenty years ago. So what am I missing?”

What are you playing at? Ana wondered as she answered, being more wordy to translate both halves of the conversation for the two conscripts. “You are missing a lot, Brigitte. But how long have you been on the road with Reinhardt? Years?”

“Since shortly after Overwatch fell…” Reinhardt remarked, his voice the loud faintness she recognized when his mind was drawn back to unhappy memories. They all had scars and regrets.

“About seven years then, going around trying to deal with the problems leftover. Gangs picking the ruins, would-be warlords, the occasional metahuman maniac?”

The squire shrugged. “More or less, though it depended on where we were.”

“It was the same in Egypt - each governorate fared differently. Alexandria was rebuilt into a truly modern city after the Crisis, and has gone mostly unscathed. Cairo was supposed to receive the same, but the corruption that wormed its way into the city stripped away that aid.”

“And the capital moved from Cairo to Alexandria because of that?”

She chuckled. “Governments were talking about a new Egyptian capital since before I was born. The Omnic Crisis just let them mix building a new capital with an existing population.” She sobered up, frowning as the elephant in the room had to be addressed. “And when the Anubis AI crippled Cairo, forcing Overwatch to intervene? They had even more reason.”

Brigitte nodded once, glancing to the conscripts briefly. Ana’s gaze followed, to the two boys trying to understand what they could. What was Brigitte playing at, if she was conscious of the language barrier-

“So there was a lot of underlying anger, knowing that things were better elsewhere, and I just stumbled in?”

“You stumbled in, but at least you are willing to ask if you did something wrong,” Ana offered as the squire’s little gambit suddenly clicked in her mind. “Maybe after all this, Fareeha or I could explain what you missed fighting in Germany.”

“Sure, but what about those we left behind? We’re going back for them, right?”

“Of course!” Reinhardt answered, not quite shock but a surprise that it was even a question. “And those we left at the Lighthouse too.”

This was not something she really wanted to elaborate on. “After the battle, after the battle.”

The truck fell silent again after that. Brigitte glanced at the two CSF soldiers again, a brief but weak smile trying to reassure them. The two boys did at least smile back briefly, though both of them looked away after. The topic had ended heavily on an issue so many glossed over after daring escapes: what about those who could not? What would their loved ones have returned to them?

And for someone like Brigitte, how hard must it have been to know that she might not be able to help when the shooting stopped? For a woman who so proudly put herself in the way of gunfire to shield others, how must it have felt to be told (even if politely) that all she could do was stand guard?

No wonder she and Fareeha got along as kids, the sniper mused before her gut tightened. Fareeha had not even given her a second thought before flying off to recover the latest iteration of Ana’s old unit.

That was when Ana’s good eye fell onto Gamilla, as it had several times on the ride to the command post before that whole discussion. Every time Ana looked, a reminder of what could have happened stared back. How easily could it have been Fareeha sitting there, blankly staring between a missing limb and just ahead as she tried to wait for treatment? How easily could Fareeha have suffered all that and worse? All while she could do nothing, and after everything she had gone through to try and spare her daughter this fate.

And Fareeha had wanted this? Wanted to watch her friends be mutilated and killed just from the dangers of the vocation? Wanted to throw herself into the fray and put herself in the way when death came?

The thought kept intruding on her even as they finally reached their destination and dismounted. Reinhardt was out first, getting his hulking frame out of the way with a staggered step, her and Jack following with Brigitte behind. The two CSF soldiers who rode with them were next, dropping down easily enough as the other truck was starting to unload with the rest of their unit.

“By the way,” Jamal started as he looked to Brigitte, “Mando and I are both fine.”

She smiled back, at least before the sergeant called for her two soldiers to rejoin the others. Soon enough, they had the bustle of work to distract themselves. Unloading the wounded from the trucks and moving them to the Orca. Fareeha’s second went to debrief with the Major, while Tracer blinked over to the dropship ahead of the others to do a preflight check.

“And to make sure no one ruddied up the engines!” Oxton added when Brigitte asked where she was going, at least before she started zipping through the crowd. And in one case, causing a conscript carrying an ammo crate to almost drop it from how close she had been before activating the accelerator.

Not what we need, Ana thought with a silent shake of her head. For all that Lena Oxton was one of the sweetest battlefield assassins you could meet, she was far too much of an adrenaline junkie when she did not need to be.

Despite everything, she kept looking southwest, to the sky. Watching for any sign that they were coming back. Keeping her ear on her commlink for news - worrying for a contact report or an ambush. But nothing came - and though she keyed her commlink several times, she stopped herself before she spoke up. There was no need to throw more comm chatter onto the airwaves, and she had nothing militarily important to say.

Important at all, on the other hand…

“She’s fine, Ana.”

The sniper turned as Jack had managed to walk up to her without her noticing. He had mostly stood to the side, keeping an eye on things. No one was particularly eager to have a ghost handling the wounded, especially those who recognized the vigilante.

“I know.” Two words, but it was enough.

They stayed silent for a few more moments, simply watching, waiting for something to happen. Caught in that ebbed adrenaline yet fully aware that they needed to be alert. Watching as Fareeha’s wounded squadmate was brought onboard the Orca, the sniper’s eye following the two as the same worry surfaced again.

“You keep staring at her. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Ana glanced at him as he broke the silence. “No, just thinking. More loss, more kids getting killed because of stupid power plays. Corva, at least, will be cared for.”

“And if she isn’t, her CO will make sure she is. She knows more about the cost of war than you think.”

“She is still willing to spend lives for the mission.” A bitter exhale as she turned her attention towards the surviving conscripts that had rejoined their parent unit. “Even civilian lives, if the alternative is letting the world burn. I never wanted her to make those choices.”

“As you keep saying.” She could actually hear the annoyance in his voice. “Back in Geneva, I stayed silent when you killed Fareeha’s application out of respect for you.”

“But?”

A small hesitance, as if he really did not want to say it, but he went on anyways. “But you can’t keep treating her like this. She’s as battle hardened as we were when the Crisis started, if not more. When are you going to stop treating her as a child? When you finally have grandkids, maybe?”

“I won’t have any if she gets herself killed. There are so many ways she could have made a difference in the world, and she chose this?”

“We all did.” Jack looked up as Tracer was getting ready to lift off. “Look, if you want to patch things up with her, you need to do it soon. Mohmar gave us good intel, so we can’t stick around much longer.”

Much as she wanted to say otherwise, he was right: Talon did not engineer this conflict, but they would exploit it. If the reforming Overwatch chose to bog down here, someone had to be free to fight elsewhere, even if it meant Ana had to hope her daughter could keep their home country safe.

“I know, Jack. We can see this battle through, though.”

* * *

“Looks like we missed our flight.”

Fareeha glanced to her right as Basil made his quip. “Ours is next, Akkad. Keep your optics clear.”

They had recovered the snipers without serious incident - though the Nekhen team had a run-in with some civilians when rounding a corner. The snipers had met those factory workers moving past a wrecked truck and CSF bodies, and at close enough range that sidearms were drawn. Fortunately, trigger discipline won out over initial assumptions of the worst. The workers were merely trying to take shelter at the mosque that landmarked the tertiary extraction point. No harm, no foul, even with a lingering wariness as their extraction arrived.

But as they returned, Fareeha expected to have to debrief immediately upon landing. Maybe General Nuru would have another mission, despite the fact that their dropship was currently on medevac. Or maybe she would be left to her own devices, though without a dropship to rapidly move across the city and expended fuel their options were limited. Instead, Saleh was on the ground to greet them, the Major still in his command post.

“Captain,” her second-in-command started as he raised his visor. “The wounded were airlifted out, both Gamilla and the conscripts.”

“Good,” one less thing to worry about as her other squadmates touched down and the truck with the snipers was coming in to park. “Any issues with the major?”

“A bit annoyed that we ordered medevac without consulting him, otherwise no. And no orders from General Nuru either.”

“Probably busy debriefing the President,” Tariq commented as he glanced towards the command post. “Speaking of that, I’m running low on fuel.”

Saleh jerked a thumb towards the crushed car that had become the marker for Tracer’s landing zone, where Brigitte was sitting next to a pair of crates with Helix logos. “We grabbed some of our resupply from the Orca, fuel cells included.”

“Perfect,” Fareeha smiled. “Come on, we’re going to resupply while we can.”

As they were heading over, Saleh explained a few things that had happened while they were flying top cover. Major Khaleed was waiting for reinforcements from General Bashir’s brigade, a brief mention of Brigitte running into the language barrier (though he did not go into details), and Tariq filled him and Brigitte in on the standoff as they started refueling.

Fareeha saw her mother standing outside one of the stores near the command post, talking with Reinhardt and Jack as the former was sitting down and the latter was keeping his eyes along the perimeter. Though a part of her wanted to go over, she let them be: those three had a lot of history, and Reinhardt needed his closure just as much as she did - if not more so, as this could be his only chance. Though now that she thought about it, Reinhardt was taking the day’s revelations far too well. Was he just glad to have his friends back, or did he just not realize how it felt to only get one letter?

But as they finished refueling, Fareeha noticed that whereas the Nekhen team was starting to disperse amongst the perimeter and her squadron was ready to stand guard, Brigitte seemed to just settle down with a resigned look towards some of the conscripts talking to each other near a parked and now-repaired IFV.

“Brigitte, are you alright?”

“No, I’m not.” The squire exhaled, shaking her head as she looked up from where she was sitting. “I can’t stop thinking.”

Fareeha sat down next to Brigitte, glad that they were at least getting some usage out of the car that Tracer had crushed with her landing before it was scrapped. “About?”

“That we’re sitting here doing nothing,” she exhaled as she looked up towards the command tent. “How many did we just feed into the meat grinder?”

“If you’re counting casualties? Sixteen dead, three critically wounded, seven with minor injuries. All deaths CSF, one critical injury amongst Raptora.” Fareeha saw Brigitte’s widening eyes as she listed them off. “What?”

The squire shook her head, catching herself. “Sorry, it’s just… weird. Hearing you say it all so calmly, like you’re just rattling off a BOM for accounting.”

“The bill of materials for some soldiers involves actual bombs.”

“I-” Brigitte’s face contorted somewhere between aghast terror at the context and a grin that was, for now, successful in stopping laughter. “Did you just make a-” the squire’s resistance collapsed but the futile last stand turned her laugh into something of a wheeze. “I always forget how terrible you are!”

The captain’s smile back was unapologetic. “You looked like you needed a pick-me-up.” Despite that, she knew there was a more serious matter, and it was time to address it. So she dropped the smile and sobered up her tone to push forward: “Puns aside, what’s really bothering you? Saleh mentioned the language barrier issue you had.”

“Oh, that… no, that’s not the issue.” She shook her head. “The dead you just listed out. We left them behind.”

“We had to grab the wounded - there was nothing we could do for the dead. Not then.”

“And we’re just sitting here waiting.”

“Not for long. Besides, in a large battle like this you should take the chance to rest.”

Brigitte nodded, glancing back towards Reinhardt briefly. “I suppose I was never in a fight this big before. It still feels wrong, though.”

Putting a hand on the Swede’s shoulder, Fareeha looked her in the eyes. “I know, but that is the reality of war. Nothing just fades away.”

“Right, of course.” Her sharp exhale told Fareeha that Brigitte was still not happy with it, but the squire moved on before she could dwell on it. “I know this is personal, but… how did it feel, when we thought-”

“When we thought my mother died?” Fareeha picked up as she realized where it was going. “When there was no body to bury?”

“I know, personal, but…”

“No, it’s a fair question.” Fareeha took a moment to compose herself, resting a hand on her unloaded launcher. “It leaves doubt, not seeing a body. You hope that someone buried them, even if it was facing the wrong way. But sometimes you wonder if there was anything left…” she started pivoting her launched on the end of the barrel. “Or if it was better that there was nothing left.”

They fell silent for several moments, Fareeha’s mind drifting back. The sudden halt in her deployment with leave pre-approved, then-Colonel Nuru giving her the official boilerplate letter and the personal one that Morrison had written. The memorial service, both official with Overwatch and one back in Egypt with the rest of the Amari family - her mother’s brothers and sisters and their children, the community doing its part for a departed member.

That will be all of us one day, she realized as she inhaled. Memories continued to surface, of her mother trying to put it delicately to her little girl that someone she knew was not coming back. Of trying to write the letters whether it was men she had led to their deaths seizing the initiative against a warlord’s masterstroke or the previous iteration of Raptora being destroyed in an ambush.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Fareeha asked, frowning as she noticed that Brigitte’s expression had faltered.

“Dragging up this whole mess,” the squire turned and pointed towards the three Overwatch founders. “Fareeha, your mother is alive! I should be asking if you need to talk about that, not my own angst!”

There was Brigitte - so acutely aware of her own failings, even when they were not really failings. “I’m not sure if there is anything you could say, but… thank you.”

“Well, take it from the girl with eight siblings: fighting is all part of the healing process. It hurts, but if you just let it sit?” She stopped. “Well, you didn’t, but…”

“I know.”

They fell silent, Fareeha glancing back wondering if maybe she needed to deal with this now. Yes, they still had a city to defend, but if they had the downtime and this was going to continue to risk blowing up in their faces…

No, better to leave it, she decided, particularly as Tracer happened to call in about a successful delivery of the wounded to a hospital in the eastern sector of the city. Work, something that Fareeha could focus on coordinating, exactly what she needed to avoid this. For now.

* * *

While Overwatch and the Raptora Squadron was waiting for their dropship, others had to act. Military forces for both sides had deployed, their full might, while leaders considered what call they would make. What tactics they would employ to bring the battle to a favorable outcome. How they would risk the lives of those under their command to bring it about. Choosing who would likely die without knowing who it would be that would catch a bullet or even shrapnel from a friendly mortar.

And for the man that perhaps had the greatest share of whatever blame came from this battle, it was also a moment where he had to deal with those who had lost sight of the greater goal. The reason for this struggle, for all the suffering they were going to cause. For what so much had been lost for ultimately nothing more than killing some conscripts and security guards.

It happened in a factory parking lot, one of the automated designs that was intended to make full use of omnics, displacing the labor of Egypt’s true citizens even from the realm of automation. All a mere two kilometers away from where the first true shatter point of the battle had been fought and lost. Yet here, the omnics that were used to run the factory were heaped into an unceremonious pile, a group of insurgents two dozen strong lingering around. Several saw who was approaching and called out warnings, but most of them were still appreciating their handiwork purging Egypt of the omnic taint.

For General Mohmar Srour, this was unacceptable.

“Stand down! That is an order, soldiers!”

One command saw the rest of the insurgents turn. Many of them raised their weapons, but fortunately the training that his provocateurs had provided held. Not that it stopped the well equipped soldiers accompanying him from half-raising their own weapons, be it their rifles or heavier. Mohmar felt a twinge of fear that often accompanied the threat of possible death, but experience had numbed him to it even if he intellectually knew that the ballistic vest or open-faced helmet he wore would not save him from an accidental headshot.

The leader of this group of insurgents was a burly man wearing an old set of Egyptian army fatigues dating back to the Omnic Crisis. The grey in his beard told Mohmar much of this man, and left him wondering if he was a father conscripted into battle so long ago. A factoid that he put aside - he could muse on it later. For now, he had to mete out discipline.

“Who - General Mohmar!” the insurgent leader took a step back. “I wasn’t expecting you-”

“And I wasn’t expecting to find out that President Amir escaped!” he snapped back, striding forward confident in the overwatch of his dozen soldiers. Unlike the insurgents who had old combat gear or items stolen just this morning, every one of his soldiers had full kit. Full body armor, modern helmets and goggles, rifles with attachments and heavier weapons, all of whom had an angle covered as they followed him up from the command dropship.

“He did?”

“Yes, and Tahir’s dead, along with his cell and most of Fatima’s! You were supposed to reinforce them, not-” he stopped, looking closer at the dead omnics. They were not just pulled out of the factory and heaped up in some sort of mockery of post-battle cleanup. They had been rounded up - all the fatal damage had been in the torso. “Not rounding up omnics for firing squads!”

“Do you know who I fight for, General? For Ashraf, for Farida, for Husani - my children, murdered by the omnics!”

Three more names for Mohmar to wonder of. To wonder what happy stories ended so abruptly by well-meaning incompetence?

“And what about those who are growing up now?” the general answered instead. “The dead rest, awaiting God’s merciful judgment. What does slaughtering worker drones do for Egypt?”

“What were you going to do, ship them off to Numbani? You are a smart man, General, this was always going to be bloody!”

“And I expected competence in its shedding. I expected you to think about Egypt, not a family blood feud.”

“You dare-”

The squad leader made the mistake of trying to bring his rifle up. Mohmar was quicker on the draw, though, striking the insurgent squad leader in the same motion as he drew his service pistol. The rifle fell on the ground, and a single shot followed.

As the squad leader’s bloody corpse collapsed with a hole through his neck (Mohmar’s shot had gone higher than intended), the warlord turned to the other insurgents. They were backing away, a few even dropping their weapons and putting their hands in the air. Those who did not then lowered their weapons, slowly, keenly aware they were not going to get the first shot on professional soldiers with angles already covered.

“Discipline will be enforced. You are not Hakim’s thugs, you are not raiders in the dunes, you are not Hassan’s brotherhood, and you certainly are not an untrained rabble!” Mohmar barked out those comparisons quickly, then turned. “Lieutenant Khaled, if you would?”

“Yes sir!” said the heaviest gunner in his entourage, and a hulking brute of an enforcer who carried his machine gun like a rifle. “Fall in! You are under my command until told otherwise. Split into your fire teams and call out your squad numbers when asked!”

Mohmar turned away, holstering his pistol again as a few of his men stayed with the lieutenant to make sure these insurgents got the idea. Returning to his command vehicle, a tracked mobile headquarters salvaged from a depot forgotten since the Omnic Crisis, and fully refurbished in the years since its salvaging. He had been aggressive pushing it this far into the fog of war, perhaps irresponsibly given his duties, but he felt that he needed to see the failure himself. Besides, the industrial district was a good staging ground to push across the river and into the city proper.

Climbing back aboard and walking to the tactical display in the middle of the vehicle, the plan now had to change. He needed a grand gesture: he had rallied many to his cause, cells would begin their strikes across Egypt now that attention was drawn towards Alexandria. He had even received information that rescue services were already being mobilized from the aid camps in Cairo to help the capital’s citizenry and initiate search-and-rescue - aid he would welcome.

But if it all stopped and ended at Alexandria, without a show of the old government’s failings to delegitimize them, Egypt would not rally. It would not believe that the government had failed and was to be replaced. They would grit their teeth and bear it hoping when they should instead act.

He needed a victory here, one that would inspire the frustration of so many into action. He knew full well that what he just saw would be part of it. He knew innocents would get caught by the mob. Would an angry crowd lynch a Swiss doctor just trying to help the aid camps because of how many misblamed Overwatch? He prayed for that not to be the case, but he was not blind to what he was about to unleash.

“And I just shot an underling,” he exhaled as the thought hit him while he looked over the tactical information. “Aziz, what was that you said when we started this? That we look like a bunch of supervillains in our lair?”

“To be fair, most henchmen that get killed in holovids aren’t trying to shoot their boss.” Aziz shrugged from where he stood across the table. “I did get a lead on the President, though. It seems he had engine trouble.”

“Define ‘trouble’,” remarked another officer as she frowned. “With you, that means explosives.”

“Someone managed to shoot at his dropship with an RPG. They evaded, but from what the spotter said the dropship clipped a rooftop in the process.”

“Nape of the earth flying,” the other officer answered as she nodded along, looking down at the map. “Smugglers loved that trick back in 2068.”

“I am sure it made them easy targets, Sera,” Mohmar remarked as he looked at her, then to the location that Aziz was highlighting, frowning. Over a residential district, one without any military importance. They should not have had any units in position with such ordnance. He filed that for later - he had suspicions, namely Talon, but right now he had to focus on his own objectives.

“What about the President and his entourage?” the warlord continued. “Did they survive, and can we still get to them?”

“As far as we can tell, yes. Given their landing, they are most likely to head to Alexandria International Airport to get a new transport to airlift them out of the city.

“Then we target the airport and the Lighthouses supporting it,” Mohmar decided as he knew this was their last chance to do this with less bloodshed then the alternative. “We need to ground air travel. Speaking of that, what’s the ETA on Cairo’s squadrons?”

“On route as we speak, and the jamming is clear enough they can make their runs.” Aziz paused. “We will have windows to intercept, as long as we can keep some jamming active.”

He nodded. About what he expected, though without his own air force beyond some home garage modified drones he was going to have to make due. At least they managed to disable Alexandria’s own squadrons in the opening strike - the last thing they needed was constant air raids while in the open. Still, this was all a gamble. If they failed, if the President was evacuated otherwise, they only had one more option for a grand gesture. One they may need anyways, as for all he knew they had shoved him into a Helix APC and was burning rubber for Damanhour.

“Aziz, how much time do you need to prepare Magog?”

The demolition expert winced - he had given his bomb the name for a reason. “About an hour, mostly to harden it against countermeasures.”

“Ready the EMP, then. If we cannot bring the leaders that failed Egypt to justice, then we have to purge this city of all omnics.”

And, left unsaid but they all knew full well, anyone who was relying on electronics for life support, or unforeseen side effects of its interactions with cybernetics. But that was the price that they would have to pay - otherwise, everything could be lost. He was not going to allow that to happen, not while he could still act. If he could move his troops quickly enough, just maybe he could salvage it before Overwatch and Helix got in his way again...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Valkyrie. I know everyone has their opinions of it - personally, I felt that Blizzard spent a lot of effort to stick Mercy in the exact same area of operations as Pharah to do absolutely nothing with it, and it did not even feel like a proper bridge to Zero Hour since it felt like the whole story was just pushing Mercy away from Overwatch. It was Mercy's story, but I personally believed that Pharah could have been useful to support the story by showing a contrast to the stereotype Mercy seemed to have in her mind, particularly given that Ana was involved too.
> 
> Still, I did feel that Mercy being in Egypt actually had quite a bit of potential, especially the story highlighting how even someone who you'd think could have walked away from Overwatch relatively cleanly was still tarred by it, so I gave the first two chapters a touch-up to reflect Mercy being in Egypt already for this story, especially since I did want to use her later.
> 
> The changes were mostly minor, but TLDR: I rewrote the mentions of Angela to account for her already being in Egypt and in Cairo to boot, did some spelling or grammar corrections while I was at it, and did an adjustment on the backstory regarding the Amari household mentioned in the first scene.


End file.
